THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE   COLLECTION  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINIANA 


C813 
R35r 


FOR  USE  ONLY  IN 
THE  NORTH  CAROLINA  COLLECTION 


■':.  A  -368 


ROSLYN'S    FORTUNE. 


A    NOVEL. 


By   CHRISTIAN   REID, 

AUTHOR   OF    UA   GENTLE   BELLE,"    "  MORTON   HOUSE,"    "  VALERIE   AYLMER," 

u nina's  atonement,"  etc.,  etc. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

1,  3,  and  5  BOND  STREET. 

1885. 


COPYBIGHT,   18S5, 

By  D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


0 


CUAPTEB 

I. — Geoffrey 

II. — In  the  Moonlight        . 
III. — "  Come  ye  in  Peace  here,  or  come  ye 

IV. — Confidences 

V. — Among  the  Flowers    . 
VI. — The  Comedy  progresses 
VII. — "Under  the  Greenwood-Tree"  . 
VIII. — "  On  the  same  Spot  "  . 
IX. — A  Warning — and  its  Result 
X. — Geoffrey  forms  a  Resolution     . 
XI. — "  Honor  before  all  Things  " 
XII. — Mr.  Stanley  amuses  Himself 
XIII. — Taking  Counsel  .... 
XIV. — Roslyn  decides    .... 
XV. — Colonel  Duncan  makes  a  Mistake 
XVI. — Geoffrey's  Good  Offices     . 
XVII. — Midsummer-Night's  Dream   . 
XVIII. — "Our  Doubts  are  Traitors" 
XIX.— "The  Sign  of  Despair"       . 
XX. — Colonel  Duncan's  Accident 


IN 


War 


PAGE 

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.  m 

.  183 


CONTEXTS. 


CHAPTER 

XXI. — "  Here  in  one  Line  is  his  Name  writ  " 

XXII. — "He  will  come" 
XXIII. — A  Willful  Man 
XXIV. — "  When  we  two  parted  " 

XXV. — Mrs.  Arden  makes  a  Suggestion 

XXVI. — PiOSLYN    CONSENTS 

XXVII. — Weighed  in  the  Balance 
XXVIII. — Geoffrey  gives  his  Opinion 
XXIX. — The  End  of  Suspense 
XXX. — An  Anticlimax  .... 
XXXI. — Geoffrey  gives  a.  Hint     . 


PAGE 

.  192 
.  203 
.  211 
.  220 
.  225 
.  237 
.  249 
.  259 
.  268 
.  276 
.  282 


ROSLYN'S    FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

GEOFFREY. 


A  pleasant,  old-fashioned  Southern  country-house, 
embowered  in  trees  and  standing  amid  wide  gardens  and 
grassy  meadows,  an  air  of  serene  comfort  overspreading 
the  whole,  in  the  long,  golden  light  of  a  summer  after- 
noon, is  the  familiar  picture  which  rises  before  the  eyes 
of  a  young  man,  who  at  four  o'clock  walks  up  to  the  gate 
of  the  Yardray  place,  a  mile  or  so  out  of  the  town  of 
Xirton. 

He  is  tired,  and  warm,  and  dusty,  yet  he  smiles  as  his 
glance  roves  over  the  placid  scene  before  him.  How  well 
he  knows  every  gable  of  the  house,  every  bough  of  the 
trees,  every  turn  of  the  paths !  How  quiet  the  whole 
place  is !  But  that  is  natural  enough,  since  what  sensible 
creature  would  be  awake  at  four  o'clock  on  a  blistering 
July  afternoon  ?  There  is  certainly  no  place  like  home, 
he  thinks,  especially  when  it  holds  the  girl  you  love  best 
in  all  the  world,  and  when  the  brightest  of  memories 
cluster  round  its  hearth-stone.  It  is  only  such  memories 
that  this  house  holds  for  Geoffrey  Thome,  although  it  is 
the  home  of  his  step-father — a  relation  seldom  held  in  high 
esteem  by  the  youthful  mind.     But,  kind  and  gentle  to 


6  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

all  who  come  under  his  influence  or  authority,  Mr.  Yar- 
dray  was  not  likely  to  fail  in  kindness  to  the  son  of  his 
wife,  particularly  since  Geoffrey  was  in  himself  a  person 
likeable  in  the  extreme.  The  boy  had  been  only  twelve 
or  thirteen  at  the  time  of  his  mother's  marriage  to  Mr. 
Yard  ray — himself  a  widower  with  one  child,  a  girl  three 
or  four  years  younger  than  Geoffrey ;  arid  hence  he  had 
readily  taken  root  in  the  home  thus  made  for  him,  had 
looked  forward  with  keen  delight  to  spending  his  vaca- 
tion there,  and  had  been,  from  that  day  to  the  present, 
the  willing  slave  of  petty,  imperious,  spoiled  Roslyn. 
Now  he  has  left  college,  the  world  is  all  before  him  where 
to  choose,  and  he  has  come  home  with  the  definite  deter- 
mination to  win  from  the  companion  and  tormentor  of 
his  youthful  days  a  promise  to  be  his,  when  he  shall 
have  conquered  fortune — a  trifling  preliminary,  which  at 
twenty-one  seems  hardly  worth  considering. 

Up  the  avenue,  under  the  branching  elms,  he  walks, 
and  ascending  a  flight  of  steps  stands  on  the  veranda 
which  encircles  the  house.  AH  is  stillness  save  a  sound 
more  expressive  of  somnolence  than  even  stillness — a 
long-drawn  snore.  Geoffrey  walks  to  an  angle  of  the 
building  and  looks  round  on  the  picture  which  he  ex- 
pected— a  gently  swinging  hammock,  within  which  re- 
clines the  slumbering  figure  of  Mr.  Yard  ray,  strewn  with 
the  newspapers  over  which  he  has  fallen  asleep.  The 
young  man  does  not  disturb  him,  but,  entering  the  house 
by  a  conveniently  open  window,  stands  in  the  sitting- 
room,  filled  with  signs  of  household- work — his  mother's 
work-table,  the  children's  toys,  and  a  very  straggling 
bundle  of  scarlet  crochet- work,  that  he  at  once  identifies 
as  Roslyn's.  "I  don't  believe  it  has  advanced  any  since 
Christmas ! "  he  thinks ;  and  then,  while  he  is  mentally 


GEOFFREY.  7 

debating  whether  he  shall  attempt  to  rouse  any  one  in 
the  house,  there  is  a  rustle  of  a  dress  in  the  hall,  and  a 
lady  enters,  who  utters  a  cry  of  surprise  and  delight  at 
seeing  him. 

"  Geoff !  my  dearest  boy  !  Why,  where  do  you  come 
from  ? "  she  cries.  "  We  did  not  expect  you  until  to- 
morrow." 

"  Got  off  a  day  earlier  than  I  expected,  mamma,  and 
so  just  came  along,"  he  answers,  gayly,  not  merely  submit- 
ting to  her  embrace,  as  is  the  custom  of  Anglo-Saxon 
men,  but  heartily  returning  it.  "It  is  delightful  to  be 
back  ! — and  how  is  everybody  \  " 

"Everybody  is  very  well.  I  can  not  see  how  you 
look,  you  are  so  sunburned  and  dusty  ;  did  you  walk  out 
from  Kirton  ?  I  am  so  sorry  !  Mr.  Yardray  wanted  to 
send  in  on  the  chance  that  you  might  come,  but  I  did  not 
think  it  at  all  possible." 

"  There  was  no  need — the  walk  did  not  matter.  I  am 
a  capital  pedestrian,  you  know.  Where  is  Roslyn — 
asleep  ?  " 

"Of  course.  I  suppose  I  am  the  only  person  in  the 
house  who  is  not  asleep,  and  it  must  have  been  some  in- 
stinct of  your  coming  which  kept  me  awake.  Tell  me  all 
about  your  visit  to  your  uncle — how  was  it  that  he  let 
you  off  sooner  than  you  expected  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  took  indigestion  so  badly  that  the  doctors 
sent  him  to  the  springs  for  sulphur- water.  I  could  have 
shouted  when  I  heard  it,  for  I  knew  it  meant  freedom 
for  me,  and  I  was  most  awfully  tired  of  Heath  dale  by 
that  time.  If  the  capricious  old  fellow  should  ever  leave 
it  to  me,  it  would  be  a  glorious  place  in  which  to  live ; 
but  I  have  often  been  driven  to  wonder  whether  any 
possible  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  it  some  day  could 


8  ROSLYN' 8  FORTUNE. 

compensate  for  the  acute  boredom  I  have  suffered 
there." 

"  For  shame ! "  says  Mrs.  Vardray.  "  I  am  sure  your 
uncle  has  always  been  very  kind  to  you,  and  it  should 
not  be  very  acute  boredom  to  spend  one  month  out  of 
twelve  with  him." 

"  By  Jove,  but  it  is — when  I  think  of  you  and  Roslyn 
here!" 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  put  me  first,"  says  Mrs.  Yardray, 
with  a  smile.  "  But,  my  boy,  I  am  afraid  you  think  too 
much  of  Roslyn." 

"  Why  too  much  ?  "  asks  Geoffrey,  shortly.  "  A  man 
can't  think  too  much  of  the  girl  he  hopes  to  make  his  wife, 
can  he  ? " 

Mrs.  Yardray  shakes  her  head. 

"  That  is  just  what  I  mean,"  she  says.  "  You  are  too 
young  to  be  thinking  of  a  wife  at  all — and  very  unwise  to 
be  thinking  of  Roslyn,  who  looks  upon  you  as  a  mere  boy." 

"  Indeed  !  Whom  does  she  consider  a  man,  then  ? — 
old  Colonel  Duncan  ? " 

"  Colonel  Duncan  is  not  old — except  in  the  opinion  of 
twenty-one.  He  is  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  Roslyn  likes 
him,  I  think,  very  well." 

"  Roslyn  likes  everybody ;  the  question  is,  does  she 
show  any  signs  of  loving  him  ? " 

"  How  can  I  tell  %  A  girl  like  Roslyn  is  not  easy  to 
read.  Her  head  is  more  full  of  amusing  herself  than  of 
anything  else  now." 

"  A  very  good  proof  that  it  is  not  full  of  Colonel 
Duncan,"  says  Geoffrey,  cheerfully.  "  Now,  mamma,  be- 
ing warm  and  dusty  and  a  trifle  tired,  I  think  I  will  go 
and  make  a  toilet." 

"  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  that  before,"  says  Mrs. 


GEOFFREY.  9 

Yardray,  with  compunction.  "  You  will  find  your  room 
ready." 

With  eyes  full  of  pride  and  fondness,  she  watches  the 
tall,  handsome  young  fellow  as  he  goes  out.  "  I  wish  he 
did  not  think  so  much  of  Roslyn,"  she  repeats  to  herself 
as  he  disappears,  and  she  listens  to  his  bounding  step  go 
lightly  up-stairs.  "But  then  if  his  heart  is  really  set  on 
her,  there  is  no  use  in  trying  to  make  him  wise." 

She  rises  and  moves  across  the  floor — a  slender,  grace- 
ful woman  with  traces  of  past  beauty  on  her  face — and 
goes  out  on  the  veranda,  where  she  comes  upon  the  slum- 
bering occupant  of  the  hammock.  That  the  sleep  of  the 
latter  is  less  profound  than  it  was,  is  evidenced  by  the 
fact  that  he  has  ceased  to  snore,  and  as  Mrs.  Yardray 
draws  near  he  opens  his  eyes. 

"  Confoundedly  hot !  "  he  says.  "  And  the  flies  " — 
striking  viciously  at  them  with  a  paper — "  torment  one  so 
that  it  is  hardly  possible  to  sleep  !  Why  are  you  wan- 
dering about,  Ellen,  at  this  time  of  the  afternoon  ? " 

"  Geoffrey  has  come,"  she  answers,  in  a  tone  which 
indicates  that  this  would  explain  the  most  erratic  con- 
duct. "  Something  kept  me  from  sleeping,  so  I  dressed 
and  came  down  to  the  sitting-room,  and  there  I  found  the 
dear  boy." 

"Indeed!  What  brought  him  earlier  than  he  ex- 
pected ? " 

"  His  uncle  left  Heathdale  earlier  than  he  expected  ; 
so  Geoff  came  without  delay.  He  was  so  eager  for  the 
pleasure  of  being  at  home." 

"  The  pleasure  is  not  all  on  his  side,"  says  Mr.  Yar- 
dray.    "  I  am  glad  the  boy  has  come.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  make  himself  a  little  presentable  ;  for,  be- 
sides traveling  all  day,  he  walked  out  from  Kirton." 


10  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  You  see  you  ought  to  have  let  me  send !  Well,  this 
is  wonderfully  warm  and  drowsy  weather,  so  I  think  I 
will  go  to  sleep  again,  and,  when  it  grows  cooler,  I  will 
rouse  up  and  make  myself  j>resentable." 

This  resolution  he  promptly  proceeds  to  execute,  and 
Mrs.  Yardray,  thus  left  without  any  one  to  whom  she 
can  talk  of  Geoffrey,  has  no  resource  but  to  retire  to  a 
shady  corner  of  the  veranda,  and  think  of  him. 

While  she  is  sitting,  her  work-basket  by  her  side,  her 
needle  traveling  back  and  forth  over  a  bit  of  needle- 
work, she  chances  to  look  up  and  see  a  small  figure, 
clad  in  white  and  crowned  by  a  large  shade-hat,  coming 
across  the  lawn.  Her  first  impulse  is  one  of  slight  an- 
noyance, her  next  to  check  herself,  and  smile  pleasantly, 
as  the  new-comer — a  delicate,  demure  maiden,  whose 
child-like  appearance  is  somehow  compatible  with  the 
fact  that  she  is  not  a  child — ascends  the  steps  and  comes 
toward  her. 

"  Good-evening,  Mrs.  Yardray,"  she  says,  in  a  voice 
as  delicate  and  demure  as  her  appearance. 

"  Good-evening,  Lettice,  my  dear,"  replies  Mrs.  Yar- 
dray.    "  Did  you  not  find  it  very  warm  walking  over  ? " 

"  Not  very — I  came  through  the  woods,  and  there  it 
is  shady.     Is  Roslyn  not  down  yet  ? " 

"  Not  yet — Roslyn's  siesta  is  generally  of  long  dura- 
tion, you  know.  You  can  go  and  wake  her  if  you  like, 
and  tell  her  that  Geoffrey  is  here." 

"  Geoffrey  ! — has  he  come  ? "  says  the  girl  with  a  start, 
her  eyes  opening,  her  cheeks  flushing  slightly. 

"  Yes,  quite  unexpectedly,  an  hour  or  two  ago." 

"  What  a  surprise  it  will  be  for  Roslyn ! "  says  Lettice, 
in  her  soft,  demure  voice.     "  I  must  go  and  tell  her." 

She  flies  lightly  away,  enters  the  wide,  airy  hall,  and 


GEOFFREY.  11 

passes  up  the  broad  staircase — at  the  head  of  which  she 
comes  face  to  face  with  Geoffrey  himself,  who,  freshly  at- 
tired, has  issued  from  his  room  and  is  about  to  descend. 

"  Why,  Lettice,  is  it  you  ?  "  he  says,  cordially  putting 
out  his  hand.     "  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again  !  " 

u  And  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  back ! "  says  Lettice, 
glancing  up  from  under  her  hat.  "  Mrs.  Yardray  was 
just  telling  me  of  your  arrival,  and  I  am  going  to  carry 
the  news  to  Roslyn." 

"  Tell  her  to  come  down  quickly.  I  want  to  see — 
you  both,  so  much.  I  want  to  hear  all  that  you  have 
been  doing  since  our  frolics  last  Christmas." 

"  We  have  been  vegetating,  chiefly,"  says  Lettice.  "  It 
will  not  take  long  to  tell  what  we  have  been  doing,  but 
you — you  ought  to  have  a  great  deal  to  tell." 

"  Not  particularly  much.  I  have  really  been  studying 
hard,  and  I  had  my  reward  in  coming  out  with  pretty 
fair  standing." 

"  We  heard  that,  and  were  so  glad." 

"  It  was  nothing  to  be  proud  of — I  only  aimed  at  the 
safe  medium  of  respectability.  Books  are  not  much  in 
my  line— but  I  must  not  keep  you  here ;  only,  by  all 
means,  come  down  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  With  Roslyn,"  says  Lettice,  smiling— a  quiet,  in- 
scrutable little  smile — "  I  understand,  and  will  bring  her 
as  soon  as  I  can." 

She  gives  him  no  time  for  reply,  but  trips  past  him 
and  knocks  at  a  closed  door.  A  sleepy  voice  says,  "  Come 
in."  She  opens  it  and  enters.  In  the  half-light  made  by 
closed  blinds,  only  dim  outlines  are  apparent,  but  on  the 
white-draped  bed  a  reclining  figure  turns  drowsily  and 
says : 

"  What  is  it  % " 


12  EOSLYN' S  FORTUNE. 

"  It  is  I,"  Lettice  answers,  coming  to  the  side  of  the 
bed.  "  You  lazy  creature,  wake  up  !  How  can  you  sleep 
so  long  ? " 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  difficulty  about  it,"  says  Roslyn, 
opening  her  eyes.  "  If  I  did  not  sleep  a  great  deal,  I 
should  not  have  so  much  vigor  when  I  am  awake.  What 
are  you  doing  here  at  this  unhallowed  hour  ? " 

"  I  don't  call  six  o'clock  an  unhallowed  hour  to  be 
anywThere.  I  came  to  see  you,  and  it  is  charming  to  be 
so  hospitably  received.  But  rouse  yourself — I  have  some 
news  for  you." 

"  As  if  I  cared  for  any  news  !  Please  go  away  and  let 
me  alone." 

"  Shall  I  tell  Geoffrey  that  ?  It  is  not  very  compli- 
mentary, when  he  has  just  come  home,  and  is  dying  to 
see  you." 

"  Has  Geoffrey  come  ?  "  asks  Roslyn,  opening  her  eyes 
again,  though  with  not  much  more  animation. 

"  He  has,  and  he  begged  me  to  bring  you  down  as 
soon  as  I  possibly  could." 

"  Dear  old  Geoff !  "  says  Eoslyn.  "  I  am  glad  he  has 
come — but  I  could  have  seen  him  an  hour  hence  as  well 
as  now." 

"  What  cordiality ! "  says  Lettice,  with  a  slightly  mock- 
ing accent.  "But  I  suppose  it  is  always  so — 'one  holds 
the  cheek  and  the  other  kisses  it.'  You  were  born  to  hold 
your  cheek  to  be  kissed." 

"  And  was  Geoffrey  born  to  kiss  it  ? "  asks  Eoslyn, 
with  a  smile  which  ends  in  a  yawn.  She  rises  as  she 
speaks — throwing  back  with  one  hand  a  cloud  of  loose, 
dark,  half-curling  hair,  out  of  which  her  face  looks  like 
a  flower.  The  white  lids  are  still  weighed  down  with 
sleepiness ;  but  that  shows  to  advantage  the  length  of  the 


GEOFFREY.  13 

lashes  which  fringe  them,  and,  when  they  lift,  not  even 
the  influence  of  the  drowsy  god  can  veil  the  splendor  of 
the  eyes — eyes  so  liquid,  so  full,  so  clear,  that  in  their 
depths  dwells  a  golden  light  like  that  of  a  gem.  The 
skin  is  of  creamy  whiteness,  with  the  tint  of  a  pomegran- 
ate in  the  flushed  cheeks,  and  the  features  have  that  deli- 
cate piquancy  of  outline  which  is  perhaps  more  charming 
than  absolute  regularity,  while  the  expression,  the  regard, 
as  the  French  say,  of  the  countenance  is  of  sparkling 
brightness. 

"  He  seems  to  think  so,"  Lettice  says,  in  reply  to  the 
last  words  ;  "  and,  after  all,  he  might  do  worse.  It  does 
not  harm  one  to  love  a  little  better  than  one  is  loved,  I 
suppose." 

"  When  you  say  such  things  as  that  you  always  make 
me  feel  as  if  I  were  so  selfish — receiving  much  and  giving 
little,"  says  Hoslyn.  "  How  can  one  help  it  ?  I  am  sure 
I  care  for  Geoffrey  enough  !  If  I  had  a  dozen  brothers,  I 
could  not  be  fonder  of  them  than  I  am  of  him ! ' 

"  Poor  Geoff ! "  says  Lettice.  "  I  don't  think  he  cares 
to  represent  a  dozen  brothers  ;  but,  like  the  rest  of  us,  he 
must  take  what  lie  can  get,  instead  of  what  he  wants ! 
Let  him  have  what  he  wants  just  now,  however,  and  that 
is  the  sight  of  you.  Do  dress,  for  I  promised  to  bring 
you  down  soon  !  " 

Thus  adjured,  and  being  by  this  time  fully  awake, 
Roslyn  proceeds  to  make  a  most  becoming  toilet — misty, 
corn-colored  organdie,  a  knot  of  black  lace  at  the  throat ; 
a  crimson  rose  in  the  dark  hair,  dainty  slippers  on  the 
slender  feet.  Lettice  observes  and  draws  her  conclu- 
sions, but  makes  no  comment — being  one  of  those  people 
that  observe  much  and  say  little.  She  has  had  a  some- 
what hard  life,  poor  Lettice,  and  has  learned  the  wisdom 


14  EOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

of  reticence.  For  all  her  child-like  aspect,  it  is  a  very  uii- 
child-like  knowledge  of  life  that  looks  out  of  her  grave, 
gray  eyes  ;  and  a  perception  of  this  sometimes  makes  Mrs. 
Yardray  entertain  a  vague  distrust  of  her — a  feeling  for 
which  she  takes  herself  to  task,  and  for  which  she  en- 
deavors to  atone  by  marked  cordiality  of  manner.  "  Let- 
tice  sees  too  much  and  says  too  little,"  she  occasionally 
remarks ;  "  but  then  one  must  excuse  a  great  deal  in  a  girl 
who  has  such  a  father" — for  Lettice's  father  is  a  man 
mentioned  as  seldom  as  possible  to  ears  polite.  He  is 
a  graceless  adventurer,  of  good  family  but  scant  princi- 
ple, who  persuaded  a  foolish  heiress  to  marry  him,  against 
the  advice  of  all  her  friends.  The  latter,  finding  they 
could  not  prevent  the  marriage,  did  her  the  service  of 
settling  her  fortune  on  herself ;  and  so  it  chances  that  al- 
though the  Stanleys  are  always  in  pecuniary  difficulties 
— the  result  of  dark  ways  and  tricks  not  vain  on  the  part 
of  the  head  of  the  household — they  have  so  far  been  saved 
from  absolute  ruin. 

"  Ready  at  last  ? "  says  Lettice,  as  Roslyn  finally  turns 
from  the  mirror.  "  I  will  take  off  my  hat  before  going 
down." 

She  steps  to  the  glass  and  lifts  her  hat  from  a  small 
head,  covered  with  pale  brown  hair — the  kind  of  hair 
which  always  lies  smooth  and  silken — and  which,  not 
having  the  least  inclination  to  curl,  is  cut  in  the  fashion- 
able fringe  across  her  forehead,  a  style  not  unbecoming 
to  her  face.  She  looks  at  the  reflection  of  herself  with  a 
little  mocking  air  of  self -contempt. 

"  One  certainly  has  no  temptation  to  vanity  after 
watching  you,  Roslyn,"  she  says.  "  I  wonder  if  you  are 
a  lucky  girl  to  be  so  pretty  ? — I  wonder  if  you  will  make 
anything  of  it  ?  " 


GEOFFREY.  15 

"  What  odd  ideas  seem  to  strike  you,  Lettice ! "  replies 
Roslyn.  "I  don't  want  to  make  anything  of  it — it  is 
enough  just  to  be  young  and  happy." 

"But  you  can't  always  be  young,  and  it  is  not  likely 
you'll  always  be  happy,"  says  Lettice.  "  The  question  is, 
what  prize  in  life  are  you  going  to  win  with  such  a  high 
card  as  your  face  % " 

"  None  at  all,  very  likely,"  answers  the  girl,  gayly, 
"  and  I  don't  think  I  care  for  any.  Don't  stop  to  moral- 
ize.    Let  us  go  down." 

She  opens  the  door  and  goes  out,  singing  as  she  flits 
down-stairs,  and  Geoffrey,  hearing  the  well-known  voice, 
rushes  eagerly  into  the  hall  and  meets  her. 

"  Geoff,  dear  Geoff,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you ! "  she 
cries ;  while  he  can  say  nothing — being  struck  dumb  by 
the  brightness  of  her  beauty,  and  by  his  delight  in  seeing 
her. 

"  It  was  so  nice  of  you  to  come  when  we  were  not  ex- 
pecting you ! "  she  goes  on.  "  There  is  so  much  pleasure 
in  a  surprise !  " 

"  There  is  so  much  pleasure  in  being  at  home  even 
twenty-four  hours  earlier  than  one  expected,"  he  replies. 
"  O  Eoslyn,  how  pretty  you  are  !  " 

"  Geoff,  I  am  grieved  to  see  that  you  have  not  im- 
proved at  all  in  savoir  faire — you  pay  just  as  broad  com- 
pliments as  ever.  Shall  I  return  your  kindness  by  saying 
that  you  have  greatly  improved  %  Is  that  a  mustache  you 
are  cultivating  ? " 

"I  wonder  you  need  to  ask.  I  consider  it  a  very 
promising  one.  A  condescending  barber  assured  me  the 
other  day  that  it  will  be  very  heavy  in  six  months." 

"  Why  not  in  six  weeks  %  I  detest  to  wait  for  any- 
thing— even  for  a  mustache — to  grow." 


10  BOSLYWS  FORTUNE. 

"  Jack's  bean-stalk  is  the  only  thing  that  would  have 
satisfied  you  in  the  way  of  growth,"  says  Lettice,  coming 
down  the  staircase  as  the  first  effusion  of  meeting  subsides 
— after  which  they  go  out  on  the  veranda,  where  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Yardray  and  the  children  are  assembled. 

Nothing  could  be  more  lovely  and  peaceful  than  the 
scene  at  this  hour,  for  the  sun  has  nearly  touched  the 
horizon,  and  his  last  level  rays  are  lying  on  the  velvet 
sward  like  a  mantle  of  gold.  The  spreading  fields  and 
distant,  shadowy  woods  are  full  of  summer  richness  and 
beauty,  and  the  light  breeze  which  is  playing  among  the 
leaves  brings  many  fragrant  odors  on  its  wings. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  not  too  much  spoiled  by  the 
grandeurs  of  Heathdale,  Geoff,  to  appreciate  our  quiet 
charms,"  says  Mr.  Yardray,  who  in  slippered  ease  is  re- 
clining in  a  large  chair.  "  I  have  heard  that  it  is  a  very 
fine  place." 

"  Very  fine  indeed,"  says  Geoff,  "  and  about  as  lively 
as  a  penitentiary.  Uncle  James  amuses  himself  taking 
medicines,  you  know ;  but  there's  nothing  on  earth  for 
me  to  do,  and  I  am  sometimes  almost  driven  to  thoughts 
of  suicide." 

"  Why  don't  you  brace  yourself  with  thoughts  of  the 
change  you  will  make  when  it  falls  to  you  ? "  says  Eos- 
lyn.  "  I  can  tell  you  we  all  count  wonderfully  on  the 
good  time  coming,  when  you  are  master  of  Heathdale — 
don't  we,  imps  ? " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  children  in  chorus — while  Rob, 
the  eldest  boy,  says,  "I  think  I'll  live  with  you, 
Geoff." 

"  Much  obliged,"  says  Geoff.  "  But,  frankly,  I  don't 
count  on  Heathdale  at  all.  Apart  from  the  uncertainty 
of  reckoning  on  dead  men's  shoes,  my  uncle's  prospects 


GEOFFREY.  17 

for  long  life  are  as  good  as,  or  better  than,  mine.     Hypo- 
chondriacs always  live  long." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  says  ]\Ir.  Vardray.  "  Put 
Heathdale,  and  any  thought  of  possessing  it,  as  much  as 
possible  out  of  your  mind.  Kothing  is  so  ruinous  to  a 
young  man's  prospects  of  usefulness  as  to  have  a  possible 
inheritance  dangling  just  before  him.  '  Why  should  I 
toil,  and  deny  myself  pleasure,  and  lead  a  laborious  life  ? ' 
he  thinks  ;  '  I  shall  be  rich  some  day.'  And  so  when  that 
day  comes — if  it  comes  at  all — he  has  frittered  away  his 
life  in  waiting  for  it.  You  must  do  better  than  that,  my 
boy.  Your  uncle,  as  you  have  said,  may  live  thirty  years 
longer — and  I  am  sure  you  would  not  grudge  him  one 
day  of  it ;  while  there  is  no  telling  what  caprice  may  in- 
fluence his  disposition  of  his  property  at  the  last.  Do  not, 
therefore,  suffer  yourself  to  build  any  expectation  or  hope 
on  it ;  act  as  if  Heathdale  did  not  exist,  and  make  your- 
self independent  of  any  man's  last  will  and  testament." 

"  Thank  you,  sir — I  will !  "  answers  Geoffrey,  with 
rising  color  and  kindling  glance.  "  What  you  say  in- 
dorses my  resolution.  My  uncle  wants  me  to  live  at 
Heathdale  and  attend  to  his  business — which  means,  have 
no  independent  existence  at  all — and  I  have  told  him 
that  I  could  not  do  it,  that  I  must  adopt  a  profession  and 
make  a  place  in  life  for  myself." 

There  is  a  moment's  pause.  Xobody  thinks  of  Lettice, 
and  Lettice's  quick  eyes  travel  round  the  group  and  take 
in  the  different  expressions  of  the  countenances — the  un- 
qualified approval  on  Mr.  Yardray's,  the  struggling  dis- 
appointment on  Mrs.  Yardray's,  the  startled  surprise  on 
Hoslyn's,  the  steadfast  light  on  Geoffrey's.     Then — 

"  You  are  right,"  says  Mr.  Yardray.  "  Wealth  can 
be  bought  too  dearly,  if  independence  is  paid  for  it." 


18  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  that  his  uncle — his  father's  only 
brother — has  a  right  to  provide  for  Geoffrey  almost  as  if 
he  were  his  father,"  says  Mrs.  Yard  ray. — "I  fear,  my 
dear,  you  have  been  rash." 

"  My  opinion  is  not  worth  much,"  cries  Roslyn ;  "  but 
I  think  you  have  been  brave  and  wise,  Geoffrey.  Fancy 
spending  your  youth  giving  pills  to  Mr.  Thome  !  " 

"  Fancy  spending  it  in  any  capacity  subject  to  another 
man's  control  and  whims ! '  says  Geoffrey.  "  I  wrould 
not  endure  such  bondage  for  a  dozeu  Heathdales ! — Don't 
look  so  grave,  mamma.  If  I  am  not  able  to  rise  on  my 
own  merit,  I  had  better  sink  and  be  done  with  it." 

"  That  is  a  boy's  idea,"  says  Mrs.  Yardray.  "  I  hope 
I  am  not  mercenary ;  but  certainly — "  she  looks  appeal- 
ingly  at  her  husband — "  Heathdale  should  be  yours  ;  and, 
if  you  refuse  to  be  your  uncle's  companion,  he  may  find 
another,  and  so  be  influenced  to  leave  the  property  away 
from  you." 

"  So  be  it,"  says  Geoffrey,  cheerfully.  "  I  can  bear 
that  prospect  a  great  deal  better  than  the  prospect  of 
spending  the  best  part  of  my  life  waiting  for  a  man  to 
die.  It  would  simply  come  to  this:  I  should  murder 
him  at  last." 

"  Geoffrey ! " 

"  Sorry  to  shock  you,  mamma ;  but  truth  is  mighty, 
and  must  prevail.  There  is  the  tea-bell,  and,  if  ever  a 
hungry  mortal  was  glad  of  the  sound,  I  am." 

"  I  should  think  so,  after  traveling  all  day,  and  walking 
out  from  Kirton,"  says  Eoslyn.  "  You  shall  have  your 
old  seat,  and  plenty  of  peaches  and  cream — are  you  still 
so  fond  of  peaches  ? " 

They  go  in  laughing  to  the  tea-table,  a  very  happy, 
merry  group.     There  is  generally  fun  of  some  descrip- 


GEOFFREY.  19 

tion  afloat  in  the  household,  but  the  arrival  of  their  elder 
brother  has  sent  the  mercury  of  the  children's  spirits  up 
to  fever-heat ;  and  Roslyn  is  quite  ready  to  aid  and  abet 
them. 

Tea  over,  Geoffrey  goes  out  to  smoke  a  cigar,  and, 
having  lighted  it,  volunteers  the  information  at  the  sit- 
ting-room window  that  there  is  lovely  moonlight. 

"  Yes,  it  is  far  too  lovely  to  stay  in-doors,"  says  Roslyn. 
"  Come,  Lettice,  let  us  go  out." 

"  You  and  Geoffrey  may  take  me  home,  if  you  like," 
says  Lettice.  "  It  is  time  I  were  going,  and  the  walk  will 
be  pleasant." 

"  The  walk  will  be  pleasant  any  time  between  now 
and  midnight ;  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  be  in  haste." 

"  No  need,  as  far  as  you  and  Geoffrey  are  concerned  ; 
but,  if  I  wait,  somebody  may  be  sent  for  me,  and  that  is 
useless." 

Since  Iioslyn  knows  that  the  somebody  in  question 
will  be  a  rude  and  disagreeable  brother,  she  does  not 
press  delay,  but  only  says : 

"  We  can  change  all  that,  now  that  Geoff  has  come. 
Tell  them  hereafter  you  need  never  be  sent  for ;  that  you 
have  an  escort  here." 

Lettice  only  smiles  and  gets  her  hat,  kisses  Mrs.  Yar- 
dray,  says  good-night  to  Mr.  Yardray,  and  announces  her- 
self ready.  Iioslyn  makes  no  preparation,  beyond  gather- 
ing up  the  filmy  skirt  of  her  dress,  and,  unheeding  dew 
or  night-air,  or  any  other  terror  of  the  prudent,  steps  out 
into  the  clear  moonlight  of  the  mid-summer  night. 


20  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

m   THE   MOONLIGHT. 

• 

Attended  by  the  tall  young  man,  whose  cigar  glows 
like  a  fiery  eye,  the  two  girls  take  their  way  across  the 
lawn  and  flower-garden  to  where  a  gate  opens  on  a  path 
that  runs  through  the  woods  for  half  a  mile,  and  emerges 
at  the  borders  of  the  Stanley  grounds.  In  daylight  it 
is  a  lovely  walk,  and  very  shaded,  as  Lettice  averred  to 
Mrs.  Yardray  in  the  afternoon  ;  but  after  dusk  has  fallen, 
it  is  a  little  awesome — darkness  is  so  deep  along  this 
woodland  way,  and  the  forest  so  full  of  strange  sounds, 
the  echo  of  waters,  the  murmur  of  leaves,  the  multitudi- 
nous voices  of  the  insect  world  ! 

"  What  contemptible  creatures  girls  are ! "  says  Ros- 
lyn,  meditatively,  as  the  gate  closes  behind  them.  "  How 
dreadfully  afraid  you  and  I  would  be  to  take  this  walk 
alone,  or  with  each  other,  Lettice ;  while,  with  Geoffrey 
to  guard  us,  we  have  not  a  sensation  of  fear,  but  are  brave 
as  lions ! " 

"  I  don't  call  that  being  contemptible,"  says  Lettice. 
"  Girls  are  so  weak — what  could  we  do  if  anything  fright- 
ened us  ? " 

"We  could  run — and  Geoffrey  knows  that,  when  I 
run,  nothing  can  catch  me." 

"  I  know  you  are  fleet  as  a  deer,"  says  Geoffrey ;  "  but 
Lettice  is  right :  girls  are  too  weak  to  be  daring.  I  won- 
der that  women  possess  as  much  courage  as  they  do ;  it 
must  be  such  a  demoralizing  thing  to  feel  helpless." 

"  It  is,"  says  Lettice.     "  I  am  glad  you  acknowledge 


IN  THE  MOONLIGHT.  21 

that  when  we  are  brave  we  deserve  more  credit  than  men 
do.  I  often  think  that  if  I  had  a  man's  strength  I  should 
fear  nothing  on  earth.  I  once  had  a  pistol,  and  while  it 
was  in  my  possession  I  felt  that  I  could  defy  man  or 
beast." 

"  O  Lettice !  Why,  a  good-sized  grasshopper  could 
demolish  you  !  "  cries  Koslyn,  laughing.  "  Well,  I  am 
not  so  brave  ;  even  if  I  had  a  pistol,  I  fear  I  should  be 
more  likely  to  injure  myself  than  anything  else.  And  I 
am  glad  Geoffrey  is  with  us  now." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,  too,"  says  Lettice,  quietly. 

"  And  I  most  glad  of  all,"  says  Geoffrey,  heartily. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  you  are  most  glad,"  says  Roslyn. 
"  I  think  we  all  feel  that  it  is  good  to  be  together  again 
— we  have  been  friends  and  comrades  so  long.  Three  is 
an  odd  number,"  she  goes  on,  putting  one  hand  through 
Geoffrev's  arm,  the  other  around  Lettice's  shoulders, 
"  but  I  like  it.  Two  people  make  a  kind  of  ego'isme  a 
deux,  and  four  people  virtually  form  two  couples,  but  it 
shows  a  great  deal  of  friendship  and  sympathy  for  three 
people  to  harmonize  as  we  do." 

"  I  think  it  does,"  says  Lettice,  "  especially  since  there 
are  so  many  uncomplimentary  proverbs  about  that  num- 
ber. It  is  very  good  of  you  and  Geoffrey  not  to  make 
me  feel  like  the  third  wheel  of  the  cart,  as  the  Germans 
say.     But  I  really  never  do." 

"  How  could  you  ? "  cries  Roslyn.  "  Third  wheel  of 
the  cart  indeed !  Why,  the  cart  would  stop  without  you ! 
It  would  be  no  longer  a  league  of  friendship,  but  a  stupid 
kind  of  family  affection." 

"  That  is  putting  it  rather  strongly,"  observes  Geof- 
frey. "  I  mean  about  the  stupidity — otherwise  I  beg  to 
agree.     You  are  a  most  necessary  member  of  our  league, 


22  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

Lettice,  and  any  nonsense  about  third  wheels  should  be 
promptly  dismissed." 

"  But  it  is  good  of  you  and  Roslyn,"  persists  Lettice, 
"  and  I  assure  you  I  feel  it,  for,  you  may  never  think,  but 
I  often  do,  what  a  difference  your  friendship  makes  in 
my  life.  I — ah,  well !  you  know  perhaps  how  little  else  I 
have.  I  am  not  social — how  can  I  be  ?  I  never  feel  at 
ease  with  people  in  general — I  am  always  thinking  what 
they  must  think — but  you  two  are  like  part  of  myself  to 
me." 

This  is  so  remarkably  unlike  Lettice — these  quick 
words  full  of  feeling — that  for  a  moment  Roslyn  and 
Geoffrey  are  too  much  surprised  to  reply.  Then  the 
former,  recovering  herself,  says,  with  an  affectionate 
pressure  of  the  shoulders  round  which  her  arm  is  thrown  : 

"  You  dear  old  Lettice !  I  am  so  glad  we  are  all  that 
to  you,  but  think  what  you  are  to  us  !  What  should  we 
do  without  you  %  Think  of  all  the  blunders  your  wisdom 
saves  us  from  committing !  You  advise,  and  Geoffrey 
acts,  and  I — ah,  humiliating  thought !  what  do  I  do  ? " 

"  You  are  the  ornament  of  the  league/'  says  Lettice. 
"  We  personify  the  good,  the  useful,  and  the  beautiful." 

"  Capital ! "  says  Geoffrey.     "  I  am  the  useful." 

"  I  meant  that  for  myself,"  says  Lettice. 

"  Oh,  no.  Geoffrey  is  certainly  the  useful,"  cries  Ros- 
lyn. "  Fancy  him  posing  for  the  good !  I  have  the 
highest  possible  regard  for  him,  as  he  knows,  but  I  do 
not  think  that  is  exactly  his  line." 

"  Far  from  it,"  says  Geoffrey.  "  I  am  useful  or  noth- 
mg." 

"  And  what  can  anybody  be  better  than  that  ? "  says 
Roslyn.  "  I  am  sure  it  is  a  great  deal  more  compli- 
mentary than  to  be  held  merely  ornamental,  as  I  am. 


IN  THE  MOONLIGHT.  23 

Now  that  I  tliink  of  it,  I  begin  to  appreciate  the  sting  in 
that  and  to  feel  insulted  accordingly.  Nothing  could 
really  be  more  insulting  than  to  tell  a  person  that  she  is 
of  no  manner  of  use,  merely  an  ornament,  a — a — " 

"  Flower,"  says  Geoffrey,  as  she  hesitates,  "  a  thing  to 
gladden  one's  eyes  and  one's  heart." 

"But  I  am  not  a  flower ;  I  am  a  human  being,  and 
there  is  a  prejudice  in  favor  of  human  beings  having 
some  brains.  Lettice  entertains  the  same  complimentary 
opinion  of  me.  '  You  are  a  creature  made  for  sunshine,' 
she  said  to  me  the  other  day — a  butterfly,  in  short." 

"  What  can  we  do  to  soothe  her  ? "  asks  Geoffrey,  ad- 
dressing Lettice.  We  can  not  say  that  she  is  not  orna- 
mental, you  know.  What  subject  will  be  agreeable  to 
her  ladyshi])  ? " 

"  Oh,  anything  frivolous  and  childish,"  says  her  lady- 
ship. "  Tell  us  what  you  did  at  Heathdale,  besides  pour- 
ing out  Mr.  Thome's  medicine." 

"  Nothing  very  frivolous.  I  read  and  smoked  and — 
and  thought  about  you." 

"  Indeed  !  "  (with  scorn).  "  And  you  don't  call  that 
frivolous !  Now,  if  you  had  meditated  on  your  future 
career,  what  heights  of  fame  you  mean  to  reach,  there 
might  have  been  some  sense  in  it.  Ah !  if  I  were  a 
man — 

1  By  Heaven,  methinks,  it  were  an  easy  leap 
To  pluck  bright  honor  from  the  pale-faced  moon  ! '  " 

She  looks  up  laughing  at  the  apostrophized  moon  ; 
and  the  radiance  of  that  enchanted  and  enchanting  lumi- 
nary falling  on  the  upturned  face  lends  it  such  magic 
that  Geoffrey  is  inclined  to  think  that  any  leap  were  easy 
which  it  inspired.     The  beauty  which  he  has  known  so 


24  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

long  and  well,  and  which  is  chiefly  proved  to  be  beauty 
in  this,  that  it  is  ever  fresh  in  its  power  to  charm,  has 
never  before  thrilled  him  so  keenly.  He  is  conscious 
that  they,  who  even  at  their  last  meeting  were  boy  and 
girl,  are  now  man  and  woman,  and  that  this  face,  with  all 
its  fairness  and  its  unawakened  passion,  is  destined  to 
bring  more  than  one  new  revelation  to  him  before  the 
end  comes.  It  is  a  moment  of  instinct  and  of  feeling 
that  stirs  him  deeply.  When  he  speaks,  his  voice  has 
wholly  changed. 

"  I  should  like  to  do  that,  or  anything  else — for  you," 
he  says.  "  I  wish  I  were  not  such  a  commonplace  fel- 
low." 

"  Geoff !  "  says  Roslyn,  astonished  by  the  gravity  of 
his  tone.  She  looks  up  quickly.  "  Have  I  said  anything 
to  vex  you  % "  she  asks.     "  You  know  I  was  only  jesting." 

"  Yex  me ! "  he  repeats.  "  How  could  you  ?  Of 
course  I  know  you  were  jesting,  but  I  have  often  wished 
that  I  were  not  such  a  commonplace  fellow,  or  that  the 
times  afforded  a  little  more  scope  for  heroic  deeds.  I 
should  like  to  do  something  great — something  worth  do- 
ing ! " 

" '  The  occasion  comes  to  him  who  hath  the  will,'  " 
says  Lettice.  "  The  times  are  not  heroic,  certainly,  but 
there  are  things  worth  doing  yet,  Geoffrey." 

"  And  you  will  do  them !  "  cries  Roslyn's  eager  voice. 
"  Then,  whomever  else  you  may  astonish,  there  will  be 
three  people  whom  you  can  never  surprise — no,  not  if 
you  became  anything — and  those  are  mamma  and  Lettice 
and  myself." 

"  I  ought  to  be  invincible  with  three  such  believers," 
says  the  young  man,  laughing.  But,  though  he  laughs, 
there  is  something  like  moisture  in   his  eyes.     Surely 


iy  THE  MOONLIGHT.  25 

praise  is  sweet  from  lips  that  we  love,  and,  although  he 
tells  himself  that  he  is  foolish  to  be  so  much  affected  by 
those  words,  he  is  really  not  foolish  at  all.  That  old 
metaphor  of  the  "  harp  with  a  thousand  strings  "  is  more 
applicable  to  the  spiritual  than  the  physical  nature  of 
man.  We  have,  indeed,  a  thousand  strings  of  feeling 
ready  to  vibrate  at  a  touch,  and  such  a  touch  has  stirred 
Geoffrey  now.  It  is  not  the  first  time  that  he  has  felt 
the  natural  longing  of  a  young,  ardent  soul  for  some  op- 
portunity to  prove  itself,  but  now  this  longing  is  quick- 
ened to  resolve. 

"It  must  be,"  he  says,  after  a  short  pause,  "that 
every  man  has  a  chance,  once  in  life,  to  show  what  is  in 
him.     I  ask  no  more  than  that." 

"According  to  my  experience,"  observes  Lettice, 
"  one  might  as  well  ask  for  as  much  as  one  wants — one 
does  not  get  it  for  asking." 

"  How  cheerful  Lettice' s  views  of  life  are ! "  laughs 
Roslyn,  "  while  her  general  tone  of  experience  would 
become  the  Wandering  Jew." 

Before  Lettice  can  reply,  the  lovely,  shadow-haunted 
road,  which  looks  as  if  it  might  continue  indefinitely, 
comes  to  an  abrupt  end  at  a  stile,  beyond  which  lies  an 
open  field,  flooded  with  silver  light.  They  cross  this  and 
reach  a  gate,  where  Roslyn  pauses.  They  are  within  a 
stone's-throw  of  a  house,  which  they  have  approached 
from  the  side — a  large,  rambling  structure  which  looks 
imposing  in  this  kindly  moonlight,  that  hides  all  signs  of 
dilapidation  and  "decay. 

"  We  will  bid  you  good-night  here,  Lettice,"  says 
Roslvn.     "  I  know  all  at  home  are  anxious  to  see  Geoff." 

t/ 

"But  mamma  will  be  sorry  if  he  does  not  come  in 

for  a  moment  and  speak  to  her,"  says  Lettice, 
2 


26  JZOSLYJST'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Of  course  I  must  go  in  and  speak  to  Mrs.  Stanley," 
says  Geoffrey.     "  I  will  not  be  long,  Roslyn." 

They  enter  the  gate  and  cross  the  lawn  toward  the 
house.  As  they  approach  they  perceive  two  men  standing 
together  on  the  piazza-steps,  and  Roslyn  knows  that  just 
what  she  wished  to  avoid  is  coming  to  pass — they  are  going 
to  meet  Mr.  Stanley.  As  has  been  already  stated,  nobody 
respects  and  few  people  like  this  gentleman,  but  there  is 
no  one,  perhaps,  who  so  thoroughly  despises,  so  cordially 
dislikes  him,  as  Roslyn  Vardray.  She  has  not  only  seen 
him  more  closely  than  any  one  else,  except  those  who 
have  the  misfortune  to  belong  to  him,  but  she  entertains 
for  him  an  aversion  which  has  its  root  in  an  instinctive 
consciousness  of  all  the  evil  that  he  embodies.  This  aver- 
sion she  has  never  concealed,  and  Mr.  Stanley  is  as  well 
aware  of  it  as  possible.  Not  one  of  her  glances  or  tones 
has  been  lost  on  him,  and  it  is  not  hazarding  too  much  to 
say  that  there  are  few  people  to  whom  he  would  better 
like  to  do  an  ill  turn  than  to  this  girl,  who  has  looked  at 
him  from  her  childhood  with  such  clear,  scornful  eyes. 

At  present  he  recognizes  her  as  soon  as  the  group 
enter  the  gate,  and  smiles — not  a  pleasant  smile — as  he 
turns  to  his  companion — a  dark,  handsome  man,  with  a 
great  deal  of  the  air  of  the  world  in  his  appearance. 

"  It  is  odd,  but  lucky,"  he  says  in  a  low  tone.  "  Here 
is  the  girl." 

"  Ah  ! "  replies  the  other,  quietly.  He  glances  at  the 
approaching  trio.     "  Which  ?  "  he  asks. 

"  The  taller,"  Mr.  Stanley  replies.  * "  Oh,  there  is  no 
mistaking  her.  And  no  denying  her  good  looks.  Shall 
I  introduce  von  \ " 

"  Certainly  not,"  returns  the  other,  with  a  decision 
which  seems  to  imply  that  he  is  aware  how  little  to  his 


IN  THE  MOONLIGHT.  27 

credit  Mr.  Stanley's  introduction  would  be.  Then  lie 
laughs.  "  She  does  not  mean  to  give  you  the  opportu- 
nity," he  says. 

In  fact,  Roslyn  has  paused,  at  a  rustic  seat  under  a 
group  of  trees,  saying  : 

"  Some  visitor  is  with  your  father,  Lettice,  so  I  will 
not  go  on.     I  can  wait  for  Geoffrey  here." 

"  Very  well,"  replies  Lettice,  understanding  and 
quietly  accepting  the  fact  that  her  father  and  her  father's 
visitors  are  not  pleasant  people  to  meet.  "  I  will  not  let 
Geoffrey  stay  more  than  a  minute." 

She  goes  with  Geoffrey,  and  Roslyn  sits  down  on  the 
seat,  silver  moonlight  lying  all  around,  and  delicate  shad- 
ows falling  over  her.  She  is  not  thinking  of  herself 
enough  to  be  conscious  of  the  lovely  picture  she  makes, 
but  only  wonders  how  long  Geoffrey  will  be  detained,  and, 
so  thinking,  taps  her  foot  impatiently  on  the  dewy  grass, 
while  her  gaze  follows  the  two  figures  passing  toward  the 
house.  She  sees  that  the  other  two  figures  on  the  steps  part 
just  before  the  former  reach  them — one  standing  still  and 
shaking  hands  with  Geoffrey,  the  other  walking  away. 

"When  taking  her  seat,  she  forgot  that  it  was  very 
near  the  circular  approach  to  the  house ;  but  she  becomes 
conscious  of  this  fact  when  she  perceives  the  stranger  ad- 
vancing directly  toward  her.  He  passes  hardly  three  feet 
from  where  she  sits,  and  in  passing  gives  a  steady  look  at 
her.  She  is  certainly  worth  looking  at,  this  beautiful  girl, 
bending  forward  in  the  moonlight,  with  her  fleecy  draper- 
ies, and  certainly  well-accustomed  to  being  looked  at,  too  ; 
yet  she  has  a  strange  consciousness,  as  if  she  had  never 
been  looked  at  before,  as  her  glance  meets  the  intent  re- 
gard of  the  most  brilliant  eyes  she  has  ever  encountered. 
Their  brilliancy  is  all  that  strikes  her  at  first ;  but  after  an 


28  R0SLY2PS  FORTUNE. 

instant  she  knows  that  she  has  also  received  an  impression 
of  a  keen,  handsome  face,  and  a  slender,  graceful  figure 
— indeed,  the  figure  can  still  be  scrutinized  as  it  walks 
onward,  though  perhaps  less  rapidly,  to  the  gate. 

"  Who  can  he  be  ? "  she  thinks,  catching  her  breath 
quickly.  Certaiuly,  unless  appearances  are  very  decep- 
tive, a  gentleman — not  one  of  Mr.  Stanley's  usual  asso- 
ciates— and  not  only  a  gentleman,  but  the  most  distin- 
guished-looking man  she  has  ever  seen.  The  warm  flush 
roused  by  his  look  is  still  on  her  cheek  as  she  sits  mo- 
tionless ;  and  she  has  not  stirred,  but  is  still  so  sitting, 
when  Lettice  and  Geoffrey  return. 

"  You  might  as  well  have  come  in,  Roslyn,"  says  the 
former.  "  As  you  saw,  papa's  visitor  left  before  we 
reached  the  house  ;  and  in  any  event,  you  know,  he  would 
not  have  troubled  you." 

"  Of  course  I  know  that,"  Roslyn  answers ;  "  but  I 
like  the  fresh  air  and  the  moonlight.  Lettice,  who  teas 
your  father's  visitor  ?  I  saw  him  as  he  passed  along  the 
walk,  and  he  is  a  very  handsome  man." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  Lettice  replies.  "  He  was  a  stran- 
ger, and  I  did  not  ask  papa  who  he  was.  I  will,  however, 
if  you  desire." 

"  Do  ! '  says  Roslyn,  as  she  rises  ;  "  and  ask,  too, 
what  makes  his  eyes  so  wonderfully  brilliant ;  I  never 
saw  such  eyes  before  !     Good-night." 

She  takes  Geoffrey's  arm,  and  they  walk  across  the 
lawn  to  the  side-gate  through  which  they  entered.  It  is 
not  until  they  are  outside  of  this  that  the  young  fellow 
says  in  a  low,  vexed  tone  : 

"  I  hope  Lettice  will  have  the  good  sense  to  say  noth- 
ing to  her  father  of  your  having  noticed  and  spoken  of 
that  man,  Roslyn." 


IE  TEE  MOOELIGET.  29 

"  Indeed  !  "  says  Roslyn,  flushing  quickly.  "  May  I 
ask  why  you  hope  so  ? " 

"  Surely  you  know.  Mr.  Stanley's  friends  are  not  a 
class  of  persons  for  you  to  notice,  and  he  has  himself  an 
insolent  tongue.  Fancy  his  telling  some  gambler  or 
horse-jockey  that  Miss  Yardray  inquired  who  he  was,  and 
admired  his  eyes  !  " 

"  I  know  a  gentleman  when  I  see  him,"  says  Roslyn. 
"  This  man  was  a  gentleman." 

"  In  dress  and  appearance,  perhaps  so ;  but  the  odds 
are  very  much  against  his  being  a  gentleman  and  a  friend 
of  Mr.  Stanley's." 

"  There  is  no  reason  for  supposing  that  he  is  a  friend 
of  Mr.  Stanley's  simply  because  he  happened  to  be  there," 
she  answers,  coldly.  "  I  am  not  aware  that  you  have  any 
right  to  take  me  to  task,  Geoffrey ;  but  I  don't  want  to 
quarrel  the  first  night  that  you  are  at  home,  so  we  will 
say  no  more  about  it." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  take  you  to  task,"  says  Geoffrey. 
"  I  only  meant  to  warn  you  ;  you  are  heedless  and  know 
of  no  harm  ;  but  Mr.  Stanley  is  not  to  be  trusted." 

"  I  am  heedless,  am  I  ?  Your  opinion  of  me  seems  to 
be  very  exalted." 

"  It  is  very  exalted,"  says  the  young  man,  quickly. 
"  Koslyn,  don't  be  vexed  or  hurt  by  my  blundering ; 
don't  you  know  we  only  find  fault  with  that  which  is  so 
near  our  heart  that  we  want  it  to  be  perfect  ? " 

"  But  I  am  not  perfect,"  she  cries,  with  a  laugh — 
"  nor  likely  to  be ;  and,  if  I  were,  you  would  find  me 
very  insipid.  But  no  more  fault-finding  ' an'  thou  lovest 
me '  ;  for,  as  I  said  before,  it  would  be  too  bad  to  quarrel 
the  first  night  you  are  at  home." 


30  ROSLYUPS  FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

UCOME   YE   IN    PEACE    HERE,    OB    COME    YE   IN   WAR  ?  " 

Half  a  dozen  miles  from  Yerdevale — the  name  of 
the  Vardray  place — stands  a  much  older  and  more  stately 
house,  which  has  been  since  its  erection  the  home  of  the 
Duncans,  the  family  of  largest  wealth  and  most  influence 
in  all  the  country-side.  Of  this  family  there  have  never 
been  many  representatives,  and  of  late  years  these  have 
diminished — some  falling  in  battle,  some  dying  from 
natural  causes — until  but  one  remains,  the  soldierly-look- 
ing man  well  known  in  all  the  country  as  Colonel  Hugo 
Duncan,  who  stands  in  the  morning  sunshine  on  the 
stone  steps  of  Cliffton  (so  the  house  is  called,  crowning 
as  it  does  a  bold  and  beautiful  cliff  above  a  rushing  river), 
drawing  on  his  gloves  preparatory  to  mounting  the  horse 
that  is  waiting  for  him. 

A  soldierly-looking,  but  not  a  handsome,  and  certainly 
not  a  young  man.  Geoffrey  is  right  enough  on  that 
point.  Hugo  Duncan  has  reached  his  forty-fifth  year, 
and  looks  every  day  of  that  age.  In  figure  he  is  a  model 
of  strength,  though  the  square  breadth  of  his  shoulders 
detracts  from  the  grace  of  his  appearance ;  but  he  has 
little  of  which  to  boast  in  symmetry  of  feature.  It  is  a 
frank,  resolute,  attractive  face,  however — a  face>  charac- 
terized by  striking  energy  and  expressing  in  every  line 
the  faculty  of  command,  yet  also  full  of  a  kindness  so 
genial  that,  when  it  shines  from  the  deep-set  eyes,  it  is 
quite  possible  to  forget  what  heavy  eyebrows  hang  over 
them,  what   a   square   jaw  and   firm   mouth   lie   below. 


''COME  YE  IX  PEACE,   OR  COME  YE  IX  WAR?"     31 

Originally  of  fair  complexion — as  the  auburn  liair  aud 
red  beard  prove — exposure  to  sun  and  wind  has  deeply 
bronzed  all  his  face,  except  the  broad  brow,  which  pre- 
serves its  whiteness,  and  lies  like  a  snow-drift  under  the 
rich  wave  of  his  hair. 

Yes,  strong,  brave,  forceful — "  a  man  every  inch  " — 
Colonel  Duncan  looks :  a  man  to  win  and  possess  any 
good  of  life  which  he  desires.  Yet  there  is  one  good 
which  he  has  not  yet  won,  and  which  no  one  can  say  that 
there  is  any  certainty  of  his  winning.  All  the  world 
around  him  knows  that,  with  the  strength  of  such  a  pas- 
sion as  comes  only  to  mature  manhood,  he  has  set  his 
heart  on  Roslyn  Yardray,  but  no  one  knows — not  even 
those  nearest  to  her — what  Roslyn  thinks  of  him.  It 
certainly  puzzles  Colonel  Duncan  to  tell.  He  is  not  blind 
to  his  own  advantages ;  though  neither  is  he  foolish 
enough  to  overrate  them.  He  knows  what  he  is  and 
what  he  can  offer,  and  he  knows  that  few  women  would 
look  coldly  on  him  if  he  came  to  woo.  But,  unhappily 
for  himself,  he  is  not  that  very  common  character,  a  man 
in  search  of  a  wife,  but  a  man  who  loves  one  woman  so 
well  that  the  rest  of  the  sex  is  non-existent  to  him.  She 
is  not  in  the  least  a  coquette,  pretty,  willful  Roslyn,  but, 
"like  the  sun,  she  shines  on  all  alike,"  and  a  man  can  not 
be  encouraged  by  kindness  that  is  indiscriminate.  As 
he  draws  on  his  gloves,  this  bright  summer  morning,  he 
is  considering  that  he  will  go  to  see  her,  and  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  resolving  that  he  will  try  to  draw  some  sign 
from  her — when,  looking  up,  he  sees  a  rider  entering  the 
gate. 

This  is  by  no  means  unusual,  but  he  frowns  a  little, 
for  it  is  not  pleasant  to  be  detained  just  when  one  is  ready 
to  go  out,  and  the  person  approaching  is  a  stranger  to 


32  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

him  :  a  man  of  slender,  handsome  figure,  and  good  seat, 
evidently  a  gentleman,  hut  whom  he  does  not  know — still 
does  not  know  when  the  stranger  has  paused,  has  dis- 
mounted, has  left  his  horse  in  charge  of  a  servant,  and 
advancing  toward  the  steps  where  Colonel  Duncan  stands, 
lifts  his  hat. 

The  moment  that  he  uncovers,  a  flash  of  recognition 
appears  on  the  face  of  the  elder  man,  and  he  comes  for- 
ward with  extended  hand,  though  with  something  lack- 
ing from  the  usual  spontaneous  cordiality  of  his  greeting. 

"  This  is  a  great  surprise,"  he  says.  "  Unless  I  am 
mistaken,  you  are  Yictor  Laurent." 

"  You  are  not  mistaken,"  answers  the  other,  taking 
the  offered  hand  wTith  much  frank  grace  of  manner.  "  I 
am  Yictor  Laurent — your  kinsman,  whose  existence  I 
thought  it  probable  you  had  forgotten." 

"  I  never  forget  any  one,"  replies  Colonel  Duncan, 
"  though  it  has  certainly  been  a  long  time  since  I  have 
heard  anything  of  you."  He  hesitates  almost  impercep- 
tibly for  an  instant,  then  adds,  "  You  are  welcome  to  Cliff- 
ton." 

"  Thanks,"  says  the  new-comer,  glancing  up  at  the 
house,  on  the  threshold  of  which  they  stand.  "  I  am 
glad  to  see  it  at  last.  The  home  of  one's  forefathers  has 
always  a  claim  on  one's  interest.     It  is  a  fine  old  place." 

"  I  think  so — naturally,"  says  Colonel  Duncan,  with  a 
subtile  coolness  in  his  manner  which  only  one  who  knew 
him  intimately  could  detect.     "  But  let  me  take  you  in." 

With  a  courtesy  which  sits  well  on  him,  he  leads  the 
way  across  the  stone-flagged  portico,  through  a  large, 
lofty  hall,  and  into  a  room  where  cases  of  books,  easy- 
chairs,  and  couches,  a  writing-table  covered  with  papers, 
a  variety  of  guns,  pipes,  whips,  and  many  other  imple- 


"COME  YE  m  PEACE,  OR  COME  YE  IN  WAR?"     33 

ments  of  peace  and  war,  prove  that  it  is  a  familiar  sitting- 
room.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  better  index  to  a  man's 
character  than  the  aspect  of  the  apartment  in  which  his 
life  is  chiefly  passed.  This  is  the  room  of  a  man  of  in- 
tellectual culture,  of  active  pursuits,  and  of  reiined  tastes. 
The  stranger  who  enters  takes  in  the  whole  at  a  glance, 
a  very  comjn'ehensive  glance,  which  passes  rapidly  over 
other  details  to  linger  on  the  photograph  of  a  girl,  in  a 
standing-frame  on  the  mantel,  just  below  an  engraving 
after  Landseer. 

Colonel  Duncan  offers  a  large,  leather-covered  chair 
to  his  guest ;  then,  taking  one  opposite,  regards  him 
steadily,  while  his  own  strong  head,  with  the  rich  tints  of 
his  hair  and  beard,  comes  out  effectively  against  the  wal- 
nut-paneled, book-lined  wall  behind  him.  What  he  sees 
is  this  : 

A  man  so  singularly  handsome  that,  but  for  a  certain 
masculine  fire  and  vigor  about  him,  the  feminine  term 
beautiful  might  almost  be  applicable  to  his  appearance. 
He  is  in  the  full  flush  of  youth — not  more  than  twenty- 
five  or  six  —  with  something  suggestive  of  French  or 
Spanish  blood  in  his  dark,  clear-cut  face,  his  brilliant  eyes 
with  their  mingled  possibilities  of  softness  and  passion,  in 
the  grace  of  his  slender  figure,  the  peculiar  classic  beauty 
of  his  head  and  throat — the  very  throat  of  Antinous. 
With  such  a  physique,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  an  idea  of 
effeminacy  would  be  suggested ;  but  there  is  nothing  of 
the  kind  here.  The  face  is  expressive  of  thought  and 
daring  ;  the  figure  is  muscular  and  lithe  as  that  of  an 
Indian  ;  the  dark,  slight  hands  are  full  of  nervous  energy 
and  strength. 

"You  have  not  lost  your  good  looks,  Victor,"  says 
Colonel  Duncan  at  last,  with  the  same  subtile  inflection 


34:  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

of  coldness  in  his  usually  genial  voice.  "  Whatever  else 
your  years  of  dissipation  have  robbed  you  of,  they  have 
spared  your  appearance." 

"  For  two  good  reasons,"  replies  the  other :  "  first, 
that  I  have  a  line  constitution  ;  secondly,  that  I  have 
given  much  time  to  out-door  life  and  sport.  A  man 
who  aspires  to  be  a  crack  shot  and  a  good  rider  dare  not 
spoil  his  nerves." 

Colonel  Duncan  smiles.  "  Quite  true,"  he  says. 
"  Well,  your  crop  of  wild-oats  has  been  plentiful,  I  hear. 
What  is  the  harvest  ? " 

It  is  now  Laurent's  turn  to  smile,  which  he  does  with 
flashing  effect — the  whiteness  of  his  teeth  showing  under 
his  dark,  silken  mustache. 

"  I  believe  the  harvest  is  generally  the  same,"  he  an- 
swers, with  a  quietness  verging  on  indifference.  "  There 
is  not  even  the  merit  of  variety  in  our  cases.  We  all 
reach  the  same  goal,  with  more  or  less  quickness." 

"  And  that  is—  ?" 

"  Paiin." 

"  Ah ! — is  the  case  so  bad  as  that  with  you  ?  " 

"  Quite  as  bad,  and  not  remarkable.  Larger  fortunes 
than  mine  have  vanished  in  less  time  between  Paris  and 
Monaco." 

"  Opportunities  for  ruin  not  being  great  enough  in 
this  country,  you  felt  bound  to  seek  greater  ones  in 
Paris  and  Monaco  ! "  says  Colonel  Duncan,  with  a  little  sar- 
casm.    "  But  I  heard  of  you  in  New  Orleans  last  winter  ? ' 

"  Oh,  yes — I  returned  to  Louisiana  a  year  ago.  When 
my  agent  wrote  that  he  could  no  longer  send  me  any 
money,  I  felt  bound  to  come  and  look  into  my  affairs. 
Unfortunately,  there  was  by  that  time  little  or  nothing 
left  to  look  into." 


"COME  YE  IN  PEACE,   OR  COME  YE  IN  WAR?"     35 

"What  has  become  of  your  fine  plantation  on  the 
Bayou  Teche  ? " 

"  It  was  mortgaged  to  the  full  extent  of  its  value,  and 
I  was  obliged  to  let  it  go." 

"  A  pity  !     "What,  then,  remains  to  you  ?  " 

"So  little  that  it  is  hardly  worth  enumerating.  A 
few  half-worthless  stocks,  some  dearly  bought  knowledge 
of  life,  and  a  pair  of  useless  hands.      Voild  tout!" 

"  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  "  asks  Colonel  Dun- 
can, pursuing  his  inquiries  in  the  same  business-like 
tone. 

The  young  man  lifts  his  shoulders  with  a  very  French 
gesture.  "  Ma  foi,  that  is  hard  to  tell,"  he  replies. 
"  Will  you  pardon  me  if  I  say  that,  as  my  senior  and 
near  kinsman,  I  hoped  you  might  be  able  to  throw  some 
light  on  the  question  ? " 

"  Let  me  understand,"  says  Colonel  Duncan,  quietly. 
"Are  you  asking  my  advice  or  my  assistance?" 

"  Your  advice,"  answers  the  other,  a  flush  mounting 
to  his  forehead.  "I  am  aware  that  there  are  reasons 
which  make  it  strange  that  I  should  seek  it,  but,  in  think- 
ing over  those  of  my  few  connections  to  whom  I  could 
apply  for  a  little  practical  counsel,  my  thoughts  have 
turned  to  you.  You  are  my  nearest  kinsman  on  my 
mother's  side,  and — " 

"  And  you  remember  in  what  relation  you  stand  to 
me,"  interrupts  Colonel  Duncan,  shortly.  "  Why  should 
you  hesitate  to  say  so  ?  You  know  that,  by  the  terms  of 
my  uncle's  will,  you  inherit  this  place  if  I  die  childless. 
Well,  it  would  be  no  great  inheritance — for  not  much  of 
the  land  goes  with  it ;  but  the  chance  that  you  might 
(if  I  should  die  to-morrow)  be  the  last  of  the  family  left 
here,  gives  you,  of  course,  a  claim  on  my  interest." 


36  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  allow  it,"  says  Laurent.  "  I 
have  felt  it — not  on  account  of  my  uncle's  will,  to  which 
you  allude,  for  that  I  have  never  thought  of  any  impor- 
tance— but  because  we  are  the  last  of  those  who  planted 
their  name  and  influence  here.  You  know  better  than  I 
the  cause  of  the  family  estrangement,  to  which  I  have 
only  heard  allusions  ;  but,  whatever  the  cause,  surely  it 
need  not  extend  its  influence  to  us." 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  it  should,"  replies  Duncan, 
slowly.  "  Yet  there  are  cases  in  which  one  feels  the 
wrong  done  to  another  more  keenly  than  if  it  had  been 
done  to  one's  self — and  so  I  have  always  felt  this."  He 
pauses  for  an  instant,  then  looks  at  Laurent  with  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  grown  almost  stern.  "  If  you  do  not 
know  the  cause  of  the  estrangement  between  the  differ- 
ent branches  of  the  family,"  he  says,  "  it  is  right  that  you 
should  know  it,  and  I  am  the  only  person  who  can  tell  it 
to  you.  Briefly,  then,  you  know  that  my  grandfather — 
your  great-grandfather — had  three  sons,  Hugo,  Robert, 
and  Allan.  Hugo,  the  eldest,  was  passionately  attached 
to  a  girl  who  seemed  to  return  his  affection  and  promised 
to  be  his  wife.  They  had  been  engaged  for  several 
months,  and  were  to  be  married  soon,  when  the  second 
brother — who  was  a  naval  officer — came  home,  and  for 
the  first  time  saw  the  girl.  It  is  supposed  that  he  fell  in 
love  with  her,  at  least  he  made  love  to  her,  and  one  day 
— a  week  before  the  time  appointed  for  her  marriage — 
they  eloped.  It  takes  few  words  to  tell  a  tragedy  that 
can  blast  a  life.  My  uncle  was  crushed  to  earth  by  the 
double  treachery,  and  never  again  was  the  same  man. 
He  had  the  fatal  gift  of  constancy  in  affection,  and  I  do 
not  think  he  ever  looked  at  another  woman  ;  lie  certainly 
dreamed  no  more  of  marriage  than  if  he  had  been  a  monk. 


"COME  YE  IN  PEACE,  OR  COME  YE  IN  WAR?"     37 

Fortunately,  my  father — the  youngest  brother — married 
early,  and,  dying  soon  after,  left  me  an  orphan  to  my 
uncle's  care.  I  need  not  speak  of  his  kindness  to  me — 
that  is  beside  the  story — but,  devoted  as  he  was  to  me 
(and,  thank  God  !  I  was  something  of  a  comfort  to  him), 
when  the  hour  came  to  make  his  will  he  showed  that  he 
could  put  aside  that  devotion,  and  rise  above  the  memory 
of  his  wrongs.  The  woman  who  betrayed  his  trust  was 
an  heiress,  and,  after  her  elopement  and  marriage  to  Robert 
Duncan,  they  never  returned  here,  but  went  to  Louisiana 
and  purchased  the  plantation  which  you  have  just  lost. 
They  had  only  one  child — your  mother.  Xow  you  know, 
perhaps,  that  the  Duncans  brought  with  them  to  this 
country  certain  Old  World  ideas,  the  strongest  of  which 
was  the  belief  that  the  family-seat  should  descend  to  the 
oldest  son  ;  failing  him,  to  the  next,  and  so  on.  Acting  on 
this  principle,  my  grandfather  left  Cliff  ton  to  my  uncle 
Hugo,  and  he  left  it  naturally  to  me.  I  had  not  only 
been  as  a  child  to  him,  but  I  was  the  last  of  the  name — 
Robert  Duncan  having  left  no  son.  But,  after  that, 
what  he  conceived  to  be  his  duty  to  his  brother  came  in, 
and,  if  I  die  childless,  you  are  named  as  the  next  heir. 
But,  to  prevent  any  false  impression  in  your  mind,  I  must 
distinctly  state  that  the  entailed  inheritance  comprises  only 
this  house  and  a  small  part  of  the  land.  The  remainder 
of  the  estate  is  partly  my  inheritance  from  my  father, 
partly  was  bought  by  my  uncle  (and  left  unconditionally 
to  me)  when,  by  your  grandfather's  orders,  all  that  he 
inherited  under  his  father's  will  was  sold.  Have  I  been 
clear  ? " 

"  Perfectly,"  replies  Laurent,  with  unmoved  compos- 
ure. "  The  whole  story  is  plain  to  me  now,  and  I  regret 
that   my  grandparents  bought  their  happiness — if  they 


38  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

were  happy — at  so  dear  a  cost.  But  what  will  you  ?  Love 
vanquishes  all  things,  and  no  doubt  they  believed  that 
our  uncle  would  be  philosophical  and  find  another  bride." 

"  This  explanation  over,"  says  Colonel  Duncan,  ignor- 
ing the  latter  part  of  the  above  speech,  "  you  see  exactly 
how  we  stand  to  each  other,  and  what  your  claim  upon 
me  is.  Now  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  frankly  what  you 
desire  to  ask  of  me." 

"  I  have  already  told  you,"  replies  Laurent,  in  the  tone 
of  one  who,  being  slightly  wTounded,  draws  within  him- 
self. "  I  remembered  you  as  I  saw  you  once — the  impres- 
sion of  self-sustained  strength  which  you  made  upon  me 
— and  I  thought,  '  If  I  could  see  that  man  he  might  give 
me  the  counsel  and  help  I  need.'  It  is  for  you  to  say 
whether  I  was  right  or  wrong.  Believe  me  " — he  spreads 
out  his  hands  with  another  light  French  gesture — "  I  shall 
not  blame  you  if  you  say — adieu." 

"  I  could  hardly  say  that  to  a  stranger  who  came  to 
me  for  help ;  and  you  are  a  kinsman,"  answers  Duncan. 
He  rises  as  he  speaks  and  walks  to  one  of  the  windows, 
where  he  stands  gazing  out  over  a  fair,  wide  prospect — 
the  green  valley  spreading  for  miles,  the  river  like  a  silver 
thread  laced  across  it,  the  frame  of  soft  hills  and  shadowy 
woods.  He  is  not  a  little  puzzled  and  annoyed.  What 
is  he  to  do  ?  He  has  none  of  the  usual  dislike  of  pros- 
perous humanity  for  anything  in  the  shape  of  misfortune 
— on  the  contrary,  he  has  a  heart  easily  touched  by  any 
cry  of  distress :  but  is  it  the  old  prejudice  against  Robert 
Duncan  stirring  within  him,  or  why  does  he  feel  as  if  it 
were  no  genuine  appeal  to  which  he  had  listened  ?  Yet 
in  the  man's  nature  is  an  imperative  need  to  do  the  thing 
which  is  just,  and  after  a  minute  he  turns  and  goes  back 
to  where  Laurent  sits,  a  model  of  serene  quietude. 


CONFIDENCES.  39 

"  I  have  thought  what  will  be  best,"  he  says.  "  I  can 
not  possibly  offer  you  either  advice  or  assistance  until  I 
know  a  little  more  about  your  affairs  and  your  capabili- 
ties. I  propose,  therefore,  that  you  stay  here  for  the  pres- 
ent, and  let  us  discuss  the  matter  at  our  leisure.  What 
is  done  in  haste  is  seldom  well  done." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  says  Laurent  "Few  things 
could  tempt  me  more  than  such  a  prospect.  I  will  stay 
with  pleasure  for  a  short  time." 

"  The  matter  is  settled,  then,"  says  Colonel  Duncan, 
turning  to  ring  a  bell.  "  I  shall  order  a  room  prepared 
for  you,  and  send  to  Kirton  for  your  luggage — I  suppose 
you  have  some  \ " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CONFIDENCES. 

"  So  here  I  am  established  in  the  fortress  which  I  have 
come  to  storm  !  It  did  not  open  its  doors  to  me  very  cor- 
dially, but  nevertheless  they  have  opened — etmevoild! 
If  it  is  the  first  step  which  alone  costs,  that  first  step  has 
been  taken,  and  I  see  clearly  the  nature  of  the  campaign 
which  lies  before  me.  It  is  one  which  promises  a  little 
more  entertainment  than  I  anticipated,  for  you  know 
with  what  far  from  cheerful  expectations  I  set  forth  to 
look  after  this  possible  inheritance.  Of  itself,  and  in  it- 
self, it  proves  less  worth  looking  after  than  I  imagined — 
the  entailed  portion  of  the  estate  being  small,  and  its 
present  possessor,  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  matri- 
monial intentions,  or  at  least  with  matrimonial  desires. 


40  BOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

Why,  then,  have  I  established  myself  here,  and  why  do  I 
take  the  trouble  to  think  of  a  campaign  ?  Eh  Men,  when 
one  has  come  to  the  end  of  one's  resources,  it  is  necessary 
to  do  something ;  and  this  presents  itself  as  the  easiest  and 
most  probably  profitable  thing  to  be  done  at  present — to 
establish  myself  here  (very  good  quarters,  though  a  trifle 
dull),  to  be  recognized  as  Colonel  Duncan's  heir,  to  induce 
him  to  regard  me  in  that  light,  and  above  all  to  frustrate 
his  matrimonial  intentions.  It  is  the  last  that  gives 
zest  to  the  campaign.  I  always  had  a  passion  for  comedy, 
and  this  promises  some  good  situations  and  scope  for  in- 
trigue— for  which,  also,  I  have  always  had  both  a  taste 
and  a  talent. 

"  Not  that  I  flatter  myself  the  matter  will  be  easy.  I 
am  fully  alive  to  its  difficulty.  It  will  require  great  care 
to  escape  suspicion ;  but  I  think  that  I  am  equal  to  what 
is  required  of  me.  A  man  trained  in  the  school  of  the 
great  world  should  certainly  not  find  much  difficulty  in 
baffling  these  dull  provincial  intelligences.  And  what  I 
have  to  do  is,  after  all,  very  simple,  though  it  is  necessary 
it  should  be  well  done :  it  is  only  to  make  a  sufficient  im- 
pression upon  the  heart  or  fancy  of  the  young  lady  whom 
Colonel  Duncan  honors  with  his  affections  to  induce  her 
to  refuse  him. 

"  For  I  am  told  that  I  have  come  in  time — that  she  has 
not  yet  accepted  him.  I  am  indebted  to  an  old  acquaint- 
ance, whom,  with  my  usual  luck,  I  have  met  in  this  neigh- 
borhood, for  the  command  of  the  situation  which  such 
knowledge  gives  me.  When  I  told  him  that  I  had  come 
to  learn  what  were  my  chances  of  inheriting  the  Dun- 
can estate,  he  laughed  and  snapped  his  fingers.  '  Your 
chances  are  worth  that  J  he  said.  '  Colonel  Duncan  is 
about  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  by  marrying  a  girl  half 


CONFIDENCES.  41 

his  age.'  Naturally  interested  by  this  intelligence,  I  asked 
a  few  questions,  and,  while  he  was  engaged  in  answering 
them,  the  girl  herself  appeared  on  the  scene.  Then  the 
situation  was  at  once  made  clear  to  me.  A  beauty,  and 
with  every  outward  sign  of  coquetry,  there  could  be  no 
doubt  how  best  to  influence  her!  Happily,  young  ladies 
in  this  country  are  allowed  to  marry,  or  refuse  to  marry, 
whom  they  please ;  and  unless  Miss  Vardray  is  a  very  ex- 
ceptional young  lady,  I  do  not  think  it  likely  that  after 
a  little  time  she  will  have  any  inclination  to  marry 
Colonel  Duncan.  Indeed,  from  what  Stanley — the  ac- 
quaintance referred  to — tells  me,  I  imagine  that  she  has 
not  much  inclination  at  present ;  so  I  am  really  about  to 
save  him  from  one  of  the  most  unenviable  positions  in 
the  world — that  of  the  unloved  and  consequently  jealous 
husband  of  a  beautiful  young  girl." 

So  far  has  Mr.  Laurent — sitting  at  ease  in  his  own 
chamber — written,  in  the  intervals  of  ihaking  and  con- 
suming many  cigarettes,  and  of  pausing  now  and  then  to 
glance  through  his  open  window  at  the  sloping  lawn  and 
wide  prospect  before  him.  At  this  point  he  hears  the 
ring  of  horses'  feet  on  the  drive  below,  and,  just  as  he  is 
in  the  act  of  rising  to  look  out,  a  knock  at  the  door  is  fol- 
lowed by  the  entrance  of  a  servant,  who,  with  Colonel 
Duncan's  compliments,  asks  if  he  would  like  to  ride. 

He  answers  in  the  affirmative,  locks  his  unfinished 
letter  in  a  strong  writing-case,  makes  a  toilet  quickly,  and 
goes  down.  He  finds  his  host  on  the  portico,  and  two 
well-appointed  horses  in  readiness. 

"  Hope  I  did  not  disturb  you,"  says  Colonel  Duncan, 
as  he  appears.  "  I  thought  you  might  like  to  ride.  The 
air  is  very  pleasant  now." 


42  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  I  shall  like  it  extremely,"  Laurent  answers.  "  I  have 
a  passion  for  horses  and  riding,  under  all  circumstances. 
What  a  fine  animal ! "  he  goes  on,  patting  the  arched  neck 
of  the  horse  destined  for  him. 

uHe  is  a  very  fine  animal,"  says  Colonel  Duncan, 
"  and  is  specially  detailed  for  your  service  while  you  are 
here.     Do  not  hesitate  to  order  him  whenever  you  like." 

"  Thanks ;  you  could  not  give  me  a  better  mount.  I 
shall  like  him  extremely.  Now  " —  as  they  are  both  in 
their  saddles — "  where  do  we  go  ? " 

"  To  Kirton  first ;  I  have  a  little  business  there.  Then, 
if  you  do  not  object  to  paying  a  visit  in  an  informal  man- 
ner, we  may  call  at  Yerdevale — the  home  of  some  friends 
of  mine." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  objection,"  replies  Laurent,  wTho 
decides  that  the  stars  in  their  courses  are  certainly  fight- 
ing for  him.  "  There  is  nothing  more  agreeable  than  in- 
formal visiting  at  a  pleasant  house ;  and  of  course  I  leave 
the  question  of  my  introduction  entirely  to  your  discre- 
tion." 

Colonel  Duncan  does  not  answer  for  a  moment.  Per- 
haps he  doubts  his  own  discretion  in  the  proposed  intro- 
duction :  but  if  not  to-day,  it  must  take  place  to-morrow 
or  next  day — for,  if  Laurent  is  to  remain  his  guest,  he 
certainly  can  not  be  excluded  from  the  acquaintance  of 
the  family  with  whom  he  (Duncan)  is  most  intimate.  He 
has  gone  over  the  whole  ground  before  setting  out,  but 
now  reviews  it  again  rapidly  in  his  mind.  With  friends 
whom  he  knows  so  well  as  the  Vardrays,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  go  through  the  form  of  asking  leave  to  present  his 
cousin,  and  since  the  introduction  must  be  a  necessity 
sooner  or  later,  why  should  he  deny  himself  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  Hoslyn  to-day  ?     He  decides  once  more  that  it 


CONFIDENCES.  43 

is  not  necessary,  that  it  would  be  very  foolish  to  deny  him- 
self this  pleasure,  yet  the  doubt  that  is  in  his  mind  makes 
itself  slightly  heard  in  his  voice,  when  he  says  : 

"  Oh,  they  will  be  delighted  to  know  you — they  are 
the  most  kind  and  hospitable  people  imaginable.  But 
perhaps  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  remember  " — he  pauses, 
colors :  how  can  he  say  what  is  in  his  mind  \ — "  that  they 
are  people  altogether  unfamiliar  with  your  type,"  he  ends, 
hastily. 

Laurent  smiles,  but  answers  readily :  "  Pray  make  your 
mind  easy.  I  shall  not  shock  them  by  betraying  the 
cloven  foot  of  worldly  vices.  There  is  nothing  I  admire 
more,  or  would  less  think  of  disturbing,  than  Arcadian 
simplicity." 

"  You  mistake  me  entirely,"  says  Colonel  Duncan,  di- 
rectly enough  now.  "  They  are  neither  Arcadian  nor 
simple,  but  they  are  old-fashioned  enough  to  believe  in 
certain  old-fashioned  virtues,  and  not  to  hold  in  very  high 
esteem  those  who  are  lacking  in  them." 

"But  I  hope  that  I  shall  not  always  be  lacking  in 
them,"  says  Laurent,  lightly,  as  he  pauses.  "Reform  is 
allowed  to  be  possible  even  by  the  strictest  moralists,  and 
when  I  range  myself  and  marry — " 

"Marry!"  exclaims  Colonel  Duncan,  involuntarily. 
"You!" 

"  Yes,  I,"  the  other  answers,  smiling.  "  Of  course,  I 
could  only  marry  an  heiress,  but  if  one  is  ready  to  put  out 
her  hand —  In  fact,  the  matter  is  pretty  well  settled. 
My  cousin,  Julie  Devine,  who  is  one  of  the  richest  heir- 
esses in  Louisiana,  has  kindly  promised  to  marry  me." 

"  In  that  case,"  says  Colonel  Duncan,  suddenly  turning 
toward  him,  "  I  confess  that  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand 
why  you  have  sought  my  assistance." 


44  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"Are  you?"  says  Laurent,  quietly.  "Then  let  me 
explain.  In  the  first  place,  Julie's  family  object  to  my 
financial  position,  and  they  have  carried  her  off  to  Eu- 
rope, insisting  that  I  shall  show  some  sign  of  retrieving 
my  affairs,  some  capability  of  self-support — so  they  put  it 
— before  they  will  agree  to  the  marriage.  They  really 
can  not  prevent  it,  for  she  will  be  of  age  in  a  year ;  but  I 
agree  with  them  so  far  that  I  should  feel  much  more  self- 
respectful  if  at  that  time  I  could  prove  that  I  have  some 
capability  of  retrieving  my  past  errors.  And  this  is  why 
I  have  come  to  you  for  help." 

"  Which  you  shall  have  to  the  best  of  my  ability  ! " 
says  Colonel  Duncan,  more  cordially  than  he  has  spoken 
yet.  "  And  I  may  be  able  to  help  you  better  for  having 
passed  through  something  of  the  same  experience,"  he 
goes  on.  "  I,  too,  have  had  to  redeem  a  fortune.  Com- 
ing back  here  at  the  end  of  the  war,  I  was  forced  to  go  to 
work  at  once  to  clear  off  debts  and  save  the  old  lands 
from  passing  to  strangers.  I  worked  too  hard  to  be  lone- 
ly, too  hard  to  think  of  society,  or — marriage,  or  anything 
else.  But,  thank  God  !  I  succeeded  in  my  object :  every 
mortgage  was  paid,  and  not  an  acre  lost." 

He  speaks  quietly,  and  if  Laurent  does  not  know  all 
the  story  of  labor  and  energy  and  self-denial  which  lies 
under  these  simple  words,  there  are  men  and  to  spare  in 
Eldon  County  who  could  tell  him  of  it,  and  what  a  hope- 
less task  Hugo  Duncan  seemed  to  face  when  he  inherited 
the  property,  impoverished  not  only  by  war,  but  by  the 
reckless  expenditure  of  two  generations. 

"  I  congratulate  you ! "  the  young  man  says.  "  It 
must  be  a  proud  consciousness  to  feel  that  you  have  re- 
deemed your  fortune  and  saved  your  inheritance — a  very 
different  consciousness  from  that  of  having  cast  it  to  the 


AM02TG   THE  FLOWERS.  45 

winds !  But  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  in  your  place  I 
should  have  acted  differently — I  should  have  sold  the 
place,  and  gone  into  the  world  to  make  a  free  life  for 
myself." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  you  would,"  answers  the  other. 
"  But  I — well,  I  preferred  to  stay.  And  then  you  forget 
— I  could  not  sell  Cliffton.  So  I  thought  it  better  to  in- 
crease than  to  lessen  the  inheritance  which  had  descended 
to  me.  After  all,  wealth  is  a  very  good  thing.  It  gives 
one  a  great  power  to  help  others." 

"  It  gives  one  a  great  power  to  help  one's  self,"  says 
Laurent,  with  an  honest  sigh. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AMONG   THE   FLOWERS. 

The  last  low  light  of  sunset  is  streaming  across  the 
lawn  and  reddening  the  shrubberies,  when  Roslyn  comes 
out  all  in  a  cloud  of  misty  white  muslin,  wTith  roses  at  her 
throat  and  in  her  hair,  and  takes  her  way  toward  the  gar- 
den. She  looks  like  a  rose  of  the  summer  herself,  Geof- 
frey thinks,  as  he  throws  down  a  book  which  he  has  been 
trying  to  read  in  a  shady  corner  of  the  veranda,  and  joins 
her. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid  ? "  he  asks, 
smiling,  while  his  eyes  say  all  of  which  his  heart  is  full. 

Roslyn,  quite  accustomed  to  their  language,  meets 
them  with  her  own,  as  gay  and  unembarrassed  as  a 
child. 

"I  am  going  after  some  flowers,"  she  answers,  "and 


46  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

you  may  come,  because  you  can  save  my  dress  and  my 
fingers  from  the  thorns." 

"  The  best  use  to  which  I  could  be  put,"  he  replies. 
"  What  can  I  ask  better  than  to  save  you  from  thorns  \ ' 

"  How  very  gallant  you  have  become ! "  she  says. 
"Did  you  learn  how  to  make  pretty  speeches  at  Heath- 
dale?" 

"  Was  that  a  pretty  speech  % "  he  asks.  "  I  did  not 
know  it — it  was  only  the  truth." 

He  speaks  with  so  much  simplicity  that  she  does  not 
answer.  There  is  a  certain  decision  about  Geoffrey  now, 
which  makes  her  realize  that  he  is  no  longer  the  boy  she 
has  so  long  ruled  and  tormented.  The  change  is  subtile 
but  marked,  and  more  than  once  since  his  arrival  she  has 
glanced  at  the  strong  young  face — the  face  of  a  man  with 
definite  aims  and  tenacious  purposes — as  if  it  were  the  face 
of  a  stranger.  This  impression  is  transient,  however ;  the 
expression  changes,  the  old  fun  comes  into  the  eye,  the 
old  mischievous  curl  to  the  lip,  and  it  is  the  playmate  of 
her  childhood  that  is  again  before  her.  So  it  happens 
now.  In  five  minutes  they  are  laughing  like  children 
among  the  roses ;  but  suddenly  Geoffrey  sobers,  as  he 
chances  to  glance  across  the  flower-beds  and  lawn. 

"  Who  are  those  riding  up  to  the  house  ? "  he  asks. 
"  One  is  Colonel  Duncan,  I  believe  ;  but  who  is  that  with 
him  ? " 

Roslyn  glances  round  a  tall  bush,  and  says : 

"  Yes,  it  is  Colonel  Duncan  ;  how  could  you  be  in  any 
doubt  about  him  ?  I  am  sure  he  does  not  look  like  any- 
body else.  The  other  " — she  pauses — "  I  don't  know  who 
the  other  is — at  least  not  from  here." 

"  Shall  we  go  to  the  house  ?  "  asks  Geoffrey,  somewhat 
stiffly.   "  I  suppose  Colonel  Duncan  has  come  to  see  you." 


AMONG  TEE  FLOWERS.  47 

"  Papa  is  on  the  piazza,"  slie  replies.  "  There  is  no 
need  to  go  back  until  I  have  finished  getting  my  flowers." 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  treat  your  admirers  ?  It  is  not 
very  flattering." 

"  I  never  think  of  Colonel  Duncan  as  an  admirer 
of  mine,"  she  answers,  clipping  roses  to  right  and  left, 
rather  indiscriminately.  "  It  seems  only  yesterday  that  I 
sat  on  his  knee  and  he  gave  me  a  doll — I  think  I  have 
that  doll's  head  somewhere  now." 

"If  it  was  Marie  Antoinette,  I  remember  her  very 
well,"  says  Geoffrey.  "  She  underwent  many  vicissitudes 
of  fortune,  and  finally  was  beheaded,  in  order  to  resem- 
ble more  closely  her  royal  namesake." 

"  That  was  your  suggestion,"  says  Roslyn,  laughing. 
"  Do  you  think  I  have  forgotten  how  you  persuaded  me 
to  let  you  be  headsman,  and  how  I  held  her  on  the  block 
while  you  decapitated  her  ?  " 

"  And  then  how  you  cried  over  her  ?  But  I  am  glad  I 
did  cut  off  her  head — very  glad  ! " 

"  Are  you  ?  But  you  need  not  cut  off  the  heads  of 
the  roses  by  striking  the  bushes  in  that  savage  way.  What 
has  made  you  so  sanguinary  ? " 

"I  don't  like  Colonel  Duncan,"  says  Geoffrey,  ab- 
ruptly. 

"  Then  I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  replies  Roslyn,  prompt- 
ly. "Everybody  likes  Colonel  Duncan,  and  /do  not  see 
how  anybody  could  help  liking  him." 

"  Oh,  I  help  it  very  well.  You  see  he  never  gave  me 
a  flaxen-haired  doll.  I  have  no  memories  of  that  kind 
clustering  round  him." 

"  I  don't  think  that  anybody  who  ever  knew  Colonel 
Duncan  could  have  other  than  pleasant  memories  of  him," 
says  Roslyn,  turning  toward  the  house. 


48  ROSLYN' S  FORTUNE. 

Somewhat  chafed,  and  conscious  of  his  own  want  of 
reason  and  tact,  Geoffrey  walks  by  her  side.  It  is  a  pretty 
picture — the  evening  light,  the  green  lawn,  the  graceful, 
white-clad  girl  with  her  hands  full  of  flowers,  the  tall 
young  man  strolling  beside  her  ;  but,  as  is  frequently  the 
case,  the  outward  appearance  of  the  scene  is  more  idyllic 
than  the  reality.  When  the  gentlemen  on  the  veranda 
perceive  them,  Colonel  Duncan  says  : 

"  So  Geoffrey  is  back,  I  see !  I  had  not  heard  of  his 
arrival." 

"  He  came  only  yesterday,  and  rather  unexpectedly," 
answers  Mr.  Yardray. 

"What  a  fine  young  fellow  he  has  become!"  says 
Colonel  Duncan.  Then  he  rises,  and,  descending  the 
steps,  goes  to  meet  the  two  who  are  advancing.  Greet- 
ing Roslyn,  he  turns  to  shake  hands  cordially  with 
Geoffrey ;  and  the  latter,  despite  an  uneasy  sense  of 
what  he  has  just  been  saying,  can  not  resist  the  genial 
charm  which  all  who  know  Hugo  Duncan  acknowledge, 
nor  forget  courtesy  far  enough  to  be  churlish.  They 
exchange  a  few  words,  after  which  Duncan  turns  to 
Roslyn. 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  bringing  with  me,  this 
afternoon,  a  young  cousin  whose  acquaintance  I  have 
made — or,  perhaps,  I  should  say  renewed — to-day,"  he 
says.     "  I  think  you  will  like  him." 

"  That  is  very  probable — since  he  is  your  cousin,"  an- 
swers Roslyn,  smiling,  and  not  at  all  averse  to  Geoffrey's 
seeing  the  deference  in  Colonel  Duncan's  manner.  "I 
am  sure  mamma  will  be  glad  that  you  brought  him.  Have 
I  ever  seen  him  before  ? " 

"  Never.     He  has  never  been  here  before." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  "'J 


AMOXG   THE  FLOWERS.  40 

"  Laurent.  It  is  a  French  name — his  father  was  of 
French  descent.     He  is  very  handsome,  you  see." 

Roslyn  does  see — for  at  this  moment  they  approach 
the  veranda,  and,  glancing  up,  she  meets  again  the  brill- 
iant, steady  gaze  of  the  eyes  which  met  hers  the  night 
before. 

She  is  so  much  surprised  as  to  be  almost  startled,  and 
Laurent  sees  instantly  that  she  recognizes  him.  "  She  is 
prettier,  even,  than  I  imagined,"  he  thinks,  as  he  is  intro- 
duced. Geoffrey  looks  at  him  distrustfully ;  he  is  too 
handsome,  too  elegant,  too  admirably  dressed,  not  to  be  a 
mere  society  fop,  the  young  fellow  thinks.  "  Just  the 
kind  of  man  to  fascinate  a  girl,  however,"  he  says  to  him- 
self— unconscious  that  in  this  he  is  doing  the  only  girl 
who  is  in  his  thoughts  great  injustice.  Women — espe- 
cially women  who  are  beautiful  themselves — seldom  think 
much  of  beauty  in  a  man ;  and  the  distinction,  the  har- 
monious grace  of  this  man's  appearance,  does  not  appeal 
so  strongly  to  Roslyn's  imagination  as  might  be  supposed. 
She  takes  it  all  in,  but  it  is  less  of  a  charm  to  her  than  she 
would  herself  have  thought  possible — though  there  is  no 
doubt  that  she  feels  the  magnetism  of  the  eyes,  and  is 
pleased  by  the  first  tones  of  the  voice. 

"  What  beautiful  flowers,  Miss  Yardray  !" — this  is  all 
that  he  is  saying — "even  the  heat  of  July  spares  them  for 
you,  I  perceive." 

"  Yes,  there  are  some  roses  to  be  had  all  through  the 
summer ;  but  they  are  not  blooming  their  best,  now,"  she 
replies. 

"  I  think  I  notice  some  very  beautiful  buds  among 

those  in  your  hands,"  says  Colonel  Duncan.     "  May  I  not 

have  one  ? " 

"Certainly  you  may,"  she  answers,  as,  sitting  down  in 
3 


50  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

a  chair  which  Geoffrey  places  for  her,  she  lets  the  whole 
wealth  of  color  and  perfume  fall  into  her  lap.  "  Here  is 
your  favorite,"  she  says,  taking  up  a  deep  pink  bud  with 
the  true  rose  fragrance,  and  handing  it  to  him.  "  One 
must  not  put  anything  with  a  rose ;  it  is  sufficient  for  it- 
self." Then  she  looks  at  Laurent.  "  Should  you  like  a 
flower?"  she  asks.  "If  you  sympathize  with  Geoffrey 
here,  who  scorns  such  adornments,  pray  don't  hesitate  to 
say  so." 

"  So  far  from  scorning,  I  shall  be  very  grateful  for  a 
rose,"  he  replies.  "  I  always  like  to  wear  a  flower,  but  I 
especially  value  it  when  given  by  fair  hands." 

"That  is  a  proper  and  commendable  spirit,"  says 
Koslyn,  demurely,  with  only  a  smile  at  the  corners  of 
her  lips.  "  I  confess  I  like  anything  that  I  give  to  be 
appreciated." 

"  Could  you  possibly  give  anything  that  would  not  be 
appreciated  ? "  asks  Laurent,  the  amusement  of  his  tone 
relieving  it  from  the  appearance  of  any  attempt  at  gal- 
lantry. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answers,  lightly.  "  You  have  no  idea 
how  little  proper  appreciation  of  the  true  value  of  things 
some  people  have.  Do  you  like  this  bud,  Mr.  Laurent  ? 
It  is  my  favorite  rose." 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  says  Laurent,  looking  at  the  delicate, 
half-opened  Sofrano  she  holds.  "  It  is  ray  favorite  also. 
Thanks  " — as  she  gives  it  to  him.-  "  Now,  pray,  believe 
that  one  thing  which  you  have  given  is  aj>preciated  at  its 
true  value." 

"  Allow  me  to  add  two  things,"  puts  in  Colonel  Dun- 
can, looking  down  at  his  button-hole  adornment. 

Geoffrey,  very  conscious  just  then  of  the  scratched 
hands  which  he  obtained   in   securing   those   treasures, 


AMONG   THE  FLOWERS.  51 

walks  away  in  a  rage  of  disgust.  "  She  will  be  spoiled, 
utterly  spoiled,"  he  says  to  himself.  "No  woman's  head 
will  stand  such  nonsense  !  With  those  two  men  standing 
over  her,  complimenting  her,  and  looking  like — like  fools, 
what  is  to  be  the  end  ( " 

"  Geoffrey,  what  is  the  matter  ? "  asks  Mrs.  Yardray, 
who  meets  him  in  the  hall.  u  You  look  as  tragic  as 
Hamlet." 

"Nothing  is  the  matter,"  answers  Geoffrey,  trying  to 
smile ;  but  the  next  instant  he  says,  abruptly,  "  Colonel 
Duncan  is  on  the  piazza,  and  has  brought  a  cousin  with 
him — somebody  that  no  one  ever  heard  of  before — a  very 
great  liberty,  /  think." 

"  My  dear ! "  says  Mrs.  Yardray,  in  a  tone  of  expostu- 
lation, although  she  knows  now  what  the  cloud  springs 
from.  "  You  forget  what  a  friend  of  ours  Colonel  Dun- 
can  is.  He  would  not  bring  any  one  whom  it  would  not 
be  pleasant  for  us  to  meet,  and  of  course  he  knows  that 
his  cousin  will  be  welcome.  I  must  go  out  and  speak  to 
them  at  once.     Is  my  hair  smooth  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  very  smooth,"  replies  Geoffrey,  without  a 
glance  at  it.  "Roslyn  is  doing  the  honors  very  well,  I 
think,"  he  continues,  sardonically ;  "  but  of  course  you 
had  better  go  and  add  your  tribute  of  incense." 

Ashamed  of  himself,  almost  before  he  has  finished 
speaking,  he  hurries  on,  and  Mrs.  Yardray  looks  after 
him  with  a  glance  of  anxious  pity. 

"  Poor  boy  !  "  she  thinks.  "  But  it  is  better,  a  great 
deal  better,  for  Roslyn  to  marry  Colonel  Duncan- — and 
better  that  he  should  realize  this  at  once." 

She  appears  on  the  piazza  a  moment  later,  greets  Colo- 
nel Duncan  very  cordially,  and  receives  Laurent  gracious- 
ly.    Then  the  group  fall  into  general  conversation,  and 


52  R0SLYN\9  FORTUNE. 

it  is  not  at  least  until  half  an  hour  has  elapsed  that  Lau- 
rent finds  an  opportunity  to  say  to  Roslyn : 

"  I  wish  you  had  deferred  gathering  your  roses,  Miss 
Vardray.  I  should  like  to  see  that  line  old  garden  of 
yours." 

"  There  is  not  much  to  see,"  Roslyn  answers ;  "  but  if 
you  have  a  fancy  for  old  trees  and  old  shrubberies,  and  a 
few  flowers,  I  shall  be  glad  to  show  them  to  you  now." 

"  Thanks ;  I  shall  be  delighted,"  he  answers,  quickly. 

So  they  walk  away,  leaving  the  elders  of  the  party 
together  ;  and,  if  Colonel  Duncan  looks  after  them  a  lit- 
tle wistfully,  it  is  not  because  of  jealous  apprehensions. 
Wiser,  indeed,  in  many  respects  are  the  children  of  dark- 
ness than  the  children  of  light,  and  Laurent  judged 
shrewdly  in  making  his  confidences  respecting  his  en- 
gagement. According  to  Duncan's  simple  creed  of  honor, 
no  gentleman  could  be  guilty  of  making  love,  either  di- 
rectly or  by  implication,  to  one  woman,  while  his  faith 
is  pledged  to  another;  so  with  a  mind  at  rest  and  a 
heart  free  from  jealous  pangs,  he  watches  the  two  who 
walk  away — not  grudging  Laurent  the  pleasure  of  spend- 
ing a  short  time  among  the  roses  in  the  summer  twilight 
with  Roslyn,  but  only  feeling  that  he  would  also  like  to 
walk  by  her  side,  and  listen  to  the  music  of  her  sweet, 
gay  tones. 

Mrs.  Vardray  catches  the  expression  on  his  face,  and 
divines  the  feeling  which  accompanies  it. 

"  Why  do  you  not  join  Roslyn  and  Mr.  Laurent  ? " 
she  asks.     "  Pray  do  not  let  us  detain  you." 

But  he  smiles,  and  says  in  his  cordial  voice : 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Yardray,  do  you  think  that  you  are 
detaining  me  ?  I  assure  you  that  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to 
me  to  be  here.     And  I  am  glad  for  Laurent  to  see  your 


AMONG   TEE  FLOWERS.  53 

garden  with  such  a  guide.  By-the-by,  what  do  you  think 
of  him  ? " 

"  If  I  were  younger,  I  should  probably  think  that  he 
is  charming,"  replies  Mrs.  Vardray,  smiling.  "  As  it  is, 
I  think  him  very  handsome,  and — shall  I  say  agreeable  \ ' 

"  Why  not  ? "  asks  Duncan.  "  But  I  know  what  you 
mean.  Attractive  though  he  is,  one  is  conscious  of  a 
sense  of  distrust.  In  my  case,  it  is  founded  on  my  knowl- 
edge of  his  past  career ;  in  your  case,  on  feminine  instinct, 
perhaps." 

"  I  lay  no  claim  to  that  anomalous  power,"  says  Mrs. 
Vardray,  shaking  her  head.  "  But  experience — the  ex- 
perience of  nearly  fifty  years  of  life — has  taught  me  some- 
thing. There  are  many  signs  of  face  and  manner  by 
which,  almost  unconsciously,  one  judges  people — and — " 

"  Do  not  hesitate,"  says  Duncan.  "  Laurent  is  a  kins- 
man but  not  a  friend  of  mine.  Pray  let  me  hear  frankly 
your  opinion  of  him." 

"  Frankly,  then,  he  strikes  me  as  a  man  more  fasci- 
nating than  trustworthy." 

"  My  dear !  "  says  her  husband ;  "  I  really  think — " 

But  Colonel  Duncan  interrupts  him.  "  I  am  glad  to 
have  my  judgment  indorsed  by  Mrs.  Vardray's,"  he  says. 
"  I  have  been  afraid  that  I  might  do  the  young  man  in- 
justice from — well,  from  inherited  prejudice.  It  is  not 
fair  to  visit  the  sins  of  a  man's  parents  or  grandparents 
upon  him,  and  one  should  give  the  blackest  sheep  a 
chance.  This  is  a  very  black  sheep,  I  am  afraid ;  but, 
if  he  is  willing  to  do  better,  one  should  give  him  the 
opportunity.  He  has  come  to  me  for  advice,  and  I 
could  not  refuse  to  help  him.  lie  will  stay  with  me  for 
some  time." 

"  Indeed ! "  says  Mrs.  Yardray.     Almost  unconsciously 


51  ROSLYN' S  FORTUNE. 

she  looks  after  the  two  who  have  walked  away,  and 
the  thought  that  is  in  her  mind  is,  "I  am  sorry  to  hear 
it." 

"I  felt  sure  that  it  was  a  beautiful  old  garden,"  says 
Laurent,  "  and  now  I  can  see  that  I  am  right." 

"Almost  any  place  is  pretty  in  mid-summer,"  says 
Roslyn ;  "  but  I  like  this — though  of  course  it  is  natural 
that  one  should  like  one's  home." 

"  Who  could  help  liking  it  ? "  says  Laurent,  looking 
up  at  the  fine  old  trees,  half  covered  with  ivy,  at  the 
luxuriant  hedges  of  evergreen-box  twelve  or  fifteen  feet 
high,  at  the  riotous  roses  and  climbing  vines.  "  It  is  a 
place  of  which  to  dream.  How  particularly  lovely  it 
must  be  in  spring,  when  that  orchard  to  the  right  is  in 
blossom !" 

"  It  is  lovelier  than  you  can  imagine,"  says  Roslyn. 
"  Fruit-trees  are  nearly  the  most  picturesque  things  in  the 
world  at  all  times ;  but  when  they  are  in  bloom,  and  the 
clover  is  springing  under  them,  then  I  like  the  orchard 
even  better  than  the  garden.  But  here  is  something  I 
like  best  of  all,  I  think  " — she  pauses  as  she  speaks  at  the 
end  of  the  garden,  which  they  have  reached,  and  indicates 
the  woodland  stretch  before  them.  "  There  is  a  charm 
about  woods  which  no  pleasure-grounds  can  possess." 

"  Are  you  so  much  of  a  gypsy  as  to  feel  that  ? "  he 
asks,  resting  his  arm  on  the  top  of  the  gate,  and  smiling 
as  he  looks  at  her. 

"  I  am  very  much  of  a  gypsy,"  she  answers.  "  I  like 
all  free,  wild  things.  I  suppose  you  don't  understand  the 
taste,  since  I  heard  you  say  you  have  been  chiefly  accus- 
tomed to  living  in  cities." 

"  Yes,  I  have  lived  in  cities  nearly  all  my  life ;  but,  for 


AMOXG   THE  FLOWERS.  55 

that  very  reason,  do  you  not  think  I  might  appreciate 
sylvan  things  even  more  than  you  do?" 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  Is  it  not  said  that  artificial  pleas- 
ures spoil  the  taste  for  natural  ones  ? " 

"  It  is  said  so,  yes ;  but  all  general  rules  are  subject  to 
exceptions,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  a  very  decided 
exception  to  this.  As  a  proof,  I  have  promised  my  cousin 
to  stay  with  him  for  some  time." 

"  I  hope  Colonel  Duncan  appreciates  the  compliment," 
says  Boslyn,  with  a  little  more  of  laughing  sarcasm  in  her 
tone  than  he  exactly  fancies.  "  Cliffton  is  a  charming 
place,"  she  goes  on,  "  but  unless  you  like,  7'eally  like,  the 
quiet  monotony  of  country  life,  I  am  afraid  you  may  be 
repaid  for  your  sacrifice  by  being  very  dull." 

"I  do  not  think  that  is  at  all  possible,"  he  says,  de- 
cidedly. "  I  am  already  greatly  pleased  with  everything. 
It  is  merely  by  chance,  as  it  were,  that  I  am  here ;  but  I 
feel  that  it  is  one  of  the  luckiest  chances  of  my  life." 

"  I  hope  you  will  remain  of  that  mind,"  says  Koslyn. 
"  But  I  warn  you  that  you  must  not  expect  anything  in 
the  way  of  social  pleasures.  I  do  not  think  there  could 
be  a  duller  neighborhood  than  this.  But  perhaps  you 
like  riding,  or  fishing,  or  walking ;  or  do  you  take  an  in- 
terest in  agriculture  ? " 

"  1  am  afraid  I  do  not  take  an  interest  in  anything 
very  useful,  Miss  Yardray.  But  I  like — I  do  more  than 
like — riding ;  and  walking,  under  some  circumstances,  I 
consider  delightful.  By-the-by,  can  we  not  extend  our 
walk  \ " 

She  shakes  her  head.  "Xot  this  evening — it  is  too 
late,  and  our  friends  would  wonder  what  had  become  of 


us." 


"  It  is  not  so  late  as  the  hour  at  which  I  saw  you  yes- 


56  ROSLYX'S  FORTUNE. 

terday  evening,"  lie  says.  "  Perhaps,  liowever,  you  are 
not  aware  that  I  have  seen  yon  before '( " 

She  looks  at  him  coolly.  "  Yes,"  she  says,  "  I  am 
aware  of  it.  I  recognized  you  at  once,  and  I  saw  that 
you  recognized  me.  It  would  be  difficult,  I  think,  for 
either  of  us  to  escape  recognition — the  moon  was  shining 
brightly  as  you  passed  me  on  Mr.  Stanley's  lawn." 

"  Then  the  precedent  holds  good.  You  do  walk  late 
sometimes ;  and  why  not  now,  when  the  moon  has  not 
yet  risen  ? " 

"  The  case  is  very  different.  Geoffrey  and  I  were  tak- 
ing Lettice  home  ;  and  I  only  sat  down  on  the  lawn  a  mo- 
ment to  wait  for  him.  "  Besides,"  she  laughs,  "  yonder 
is  the  moon." 

She  points  toward  the  east,  where  fiery-red,  and  large 
as  a  cart-wheel,  the  full  moon  is  rising  over  the  fields  and 
forest.  It  is  a  beautiful  scene,  an  hour  full  of  loveliness 
and  peace,  and  Laurent  feels  that  what  can  he,  an  adept 
in  flirtation,  desire  better  than  this — a  witching  face  for 
inspiration,  a  summer  twilight,  a  rising  moon  ?  He  has 
a  consciousness  of  being  fully  equal  to  the  occasion — when 
Roslyn  says : 

"  Now,  I  think  we  had  better  return.  You  have  seen 
the  garden,  and  I  have  introduced  with  fine  effect  a  moon- 
rise  for  which  you  did  not  ask,  and  for  which,  therefore, 
you  should  be  greatly  obliged." 

"  For  which  I  am  greatly  obliged,"  he  says,  without 
moving.  "  But  I  have  hardly  taken  it  in  yet ;  it  is  but 
an  instant  since  you  pointed  it  out.  Surely  you  do  not 
mean  that  there  is  any  absolute  necessity  for  retracing 
our  steps  ? " 

"  That  depends  upon  how  you  define  an  absolute  ne- 
cessity," she  answers.     "  No  one  will  interfere  with  you 


AMONG   THE  FLOWERS.  57 

if  you  stay  here  and  look  at  the  moon  for  an  hour,  two 
hours,  any  number  of  hours — but  I  must  return." 

She  moves  away  as  she  speaks,  and  Laurent — sur- 
prised, amused,  a  little  piqued — turns  at  once  to  accom- 
pany her.  "  She  is  either  very  self-willed,  or  she  knows 
something  of  the  game  herself,"  he  thinks.  Aloud  he 
says : 

"  You  are  really  cruel,  Miss  Yardray.  This  is  a  lovely 
scene,  and  we  shall  lose  it  entirely  at  the  house." 

"  And  are  there  no  attractions  at  the  house  to  atone 
for  "it?"  she  asks. 

"  There  is  one  attraction  which  would  atone  for  the 
loss  of  anything,"  he  says ;  "  but  it  is  not  necessary  that  I 
should  go  there  to  find  that." 

"  It  is  very  necessary  you  should  go  there  to  find  it," 
she  replies,  "  if  you  intend  my  vanity  to  appropriate  the 
compliment.  Now  there  is  a  fine  opportunity  fur  reveng- 
ing yourself,  by  pointing  out  that  you  did  not  intend 
anything  of  the  kind,"  she  adds,  with  another  laugh  so 
sweet  and  gay  that  Laurent  smiles  despite  himself. 

"  Revenge  is  sweet,"  he  observes,  sententiously,  "  but 
not  even  for  the  sake  of  tasting  its  sweetness,  can  I  affirm 
that  I  did  not  distinctly  and  entirely  intend  that  your 
vanity  should  appropriate  the  truth  which  you  call  a  com- 
pliment." 

She  makes  a  little  courtesy,  full  of  mirth  and  coquetry. 

"  That  is  magnanimous,  as  well  as  graceful  and  gal- 
lant, Mr.  Laurent,"  she  says  ;  "  and  I  am  your  debtor — 
for  really  I  should  have  felt  the  blow  keenly  if  you  had 
told  me  that  you  did  not  mean  me" 

"  You  would  not  have  believed  me  if  I  had  told  vou 
so,"  answers  Laurent,  with  one  of  his  practiced  glances. 

It  is  a  game  which  is  old  and  common  enough  to  him 


58  ROSLYN' S  FORTUNE. 

— only  deriving  freshness  from  the  freshness  of  the  sub- 
ject— but  to  Roslyn  it  is  new  and  somewhat  alluring. 
She  has  already  seen  enough  of  the  world  to  understand 
what  he  means,  and  mingled  with  a  little  resentment 
comes  the  thought,  "What  if  I  should  turn  his  amuse- 
ment into  earnest !  "  There  is  attraction  in  the  thought, 
and  she  Iras  the  first  requisite  for  victory — thorough  con- 
fidence in  self,  confidence  in  her  own  power  to  charm  and 
subdue.  Nor  is  this  confidence  without  a  basis  in  experi- 
ence, for  when  has  she  ever  failed  with  any  man  who  has 
crossed  her  path  ?  Even  now,  she  knows  that  Colonel 
Duncan's  eyes  are  looking  eagerly  through  the  twilight 
for  her ;  and  is  not  Geoffrey  sulking  in  the  background, 
solely  on  her  account?  This  sort  of  thing  gives  a 
woman  a  feeling  of  assured  power ;  and  so,  with  all  the 
rashness  of  one  who  has  never  known  defeat,  Roslvn  feels 
herself  fully  capable  of  trying  conclusions  with  Mr.  Lau- 
rent. They  stroll  slowly  back  to  the  house,  and,  when 
they  reach  the  piazza,  Mrs.  Yardray  says  : 

"  You  are  just  in  time  for  tea." 

After  tea,  Geoffrey  has  an  opportunity  to  judge  for 
himself  of  the  reputed  devotion  of  Colonel  Duncan,  and 
of  Roslyn's  manner  of  receiving  it.  Of  the  first,  he 
speedily  sees  there  can  be  no  doubt.  The  idea  of  con- 
cealing his  hopes  and  intentions  has  never  for  an  instant 
entered  Hugo  Duncan's  mind,  and  no  one  could  be  with 
him  in  Roslyn' s  society  for  half  an  hour  without  perceiv- 
ing that  he  has  given  her  the  whole  of  his  heart.  That 
Roslyn  herself  is  aware  of  this  there  can  be  no  doubt, 
either ;  but  whether  the  girl  has  not  yet  learned  the  mean- 
ing of  love,  or  whether  she  only  exercises  that  reserve 
which  comes  as  a  matter  of  instinct  to  the  most  untried 
women,  Geoffrey  is  at  a  loss  to  tell.     He  only  knows  that 


AMONG   THE  FLOWERS.  59 

there  is  no  consciousness  in  her  manner,  no  wavering 
color,  no  drooping  lashes,  none  of  those  signs  which  he 
has  been  instructed  to  regard  as  love's  language. 

It  is  not  only  Geoffrey  who  is  puzzled  on  this  score. 
Colonel  Duncan  himself  feels,  as  often  before,  completely 
baffled.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  girl  likes  him — 
she  is  gracious  aud  kind  and  sparkling  whenever  he  draws 
near ;  but  will  this  liking  ever  grow  more  ?  has  it  any 
shade  of  love  in  it  ?  These  are  questions  he  asks  himself, 
and  to  which  he  receives  no  satisfactory  reply. 

Even  if  he  had  the  disposition,  he  has  not  the  oppor- 
tunity, to  make  any  definite  avowal  to-night;  but  the  de- 
sire to  have  Roslyn  to  himself  for  a  time  grows  strongly 
on  him,  and  before  the  evening  is  over  he  draws  her 
away  from  the  general  group  by  asking  her  to  sing. 
This  means  to  leave  the  cool  and  lovely  moonlight  of  the 
veranda  for  the  warmer  atmosphere  of  the  lamp-lit  draw- 
ing-room ;  but  she  does  so  without  demur,  and  goes  in, 
attended  by  him. 

Those  outside  hear  her  clear,  sweet  voice  in  one  or 
two  songs,  and  then  silence  falls — at  least  for  them.  But, 
that  silence  does  not  reign  writhin,  they  can  have  abun- 
dant evidence  by  glancing  through  the  open  windows  to 
where  Roslyn  sits  at  the  piano,  talking  to  her  companion, 
who  leans  across  the  instrument.  That  she  is  well-con- 
tent to  sit  there  and  talk,  the  lookers-on  clearly  perceive 
— Geoffrey  with  jealous  pain,  Laurent  with  a  feeling  of 
annoyance  which  surprises  himself.  This  might  be  partly 
soothed,  perhaps,  were  he  aware  that  he  is,  during  part  of 
the  time  at  least,  the  subject  of  conversation. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  cousin  ? "  Duncan  has  said, 
lightly,  yet  with  some  anxiety. 

Roslyn  lifts  her  eyes  to  his  with  the  frankness  of  a 


60  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

child.  "  I  think  he  is  the  most  handsome  and  the  most  ele- 
gant man  I  have  ever  seen,"  she  answers ;  "  but  he  thinks 
— oh,  he  thinks  very  well  of  himself ! " 

"  Most  men  do,  I  am  afraid,"  says  Duncan,  laughing. 
"  Vanity  is  such  a  common  failing  with  people  who  have 
no  such  excuse  for  it  as  he  has,  that  one  feels  almost  bound 
to  pardon  it  in  him." 

"  I  don't  feel  inclined  to  pardon  it  in  anybody,"  she 
says,  "  at  least  not  in  any  man.  A  woman,  now,  has  a 
prescriptive  right  to  be  vain.  I  am  afraid  I  am  vain  my- 
self, but  I  don't  think  I  am  nearly  so  vain  as  Mr.  Laurent." 

"  You  are  rather  hard  on  him,"  says  Duncan.  "  Such 
a  handsome  young  fellow  must  be  pardoned  some  foibles. 
He  has  been  spoiled,  you  see.  I  have  no  doubt  he  is  an 
accomplished  lady-killer." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  at  all,"  says  Roslyn,  with  a 
curling  lip.  "  That  is  just  what  I  mean — that  is  what  is 
the  matter  with  him.  He  has  lived  among  small  things, 
and  had  small  ends.  I  don't  know  very  much  of  the 
world,  but  it  seems  to  me  that,  to  make  a  noble  character, 
one  must  have  a  noble  aim.  If  I  were  a  man,  I  would  be 
a  man,  and  endeavor  to  kill  something  higher  than  the 
hearts  or  fancies  of  foolish  women." 

"  You  are  right  about  the  noble  aim,"  says  Duncan, 
smiling.  "  But  are  you  certain  that  the  women  are  fool- 
ish who  lose  their  hearts  % " 

"  I  think  they  are  worse  than  foolish,"  she  answers. 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  falling  in  love  is  a  great  absurdity 
from  any  point  of  view  ;  but,  if  I  fell  in  love  at  all,  it  cer- 
tainly would  not  be  with  Narcissus." 

"  That  is  hardly  fair  to  Laurent,  who  may  be  a  manly 
fellow,  for  all  his  handsome  looks  and  delicate  grace.  Do 
you  remember 


AMONG   THE  FLOWERS.  01 

4  The  fool  who  last  year  at  her  Majesty's  ball 
Sickened  me  so  with  his  simper  and  pride, 
Is  the  hero  now  heard  of,  the  first  on  the  wall 
With  the  bayonet- wound  in  his  side  '  ? 

I  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  Laurent  is  the  least  of  a 
fool,  or  could  even  sicken  one  with  a  simper  of  pride ; 
but  I  mean  that  it  is  well  to  remember  that  we  never 
know  how  much  manly  stuff  there  may  be  even  in  a  curled 
darling  of  fashion." 

"  You  never  fail  to  have  something  kind  to  say  of 
every  one,"  says  Roslyn,  looking  up  at  him  with  admira- 
tion, "  and  you  make  me  feel  very  uncharitable ;  but  I 
meant  no  harm  with  regard  to  Mr.  Laurent.  He  may  be 
as  admirable  within  as  without,  only  I  don't  think  so ! 
Now,  what  shall  I  sing,  or  do  you  want  to  hear  me  sing 
any  more  % " 

"  You  know  I  am  never  tired  of  hearing  you  sing — 
but  I  fear  I  have  monopolized  you  too  long.  Shall  we 
go  out  again,  or  shall  we  call  in  Laurent  and  make  him 
sing  ?     I  fancy  he  sings  very  well." 

"  Oh,  by  all  means  call  him  in.  I  wonder  that  I  did 
not  think  of  that  before.     He  has  a  singing  face." 

So  Laurent  is  called  in,  and  admits  that  he  sings  "a 
little."  He  proves  to  have  a  charming  tenor  voice,  and 
gives  several  songs — an  operatic  air,  a  German  serenade, 
and  a  French  song — accompanying  himself  with  ease. 
But  presently  he  springs  up  from  the  piano  with  a 
laugh. 

"I  am  unconscionable,  I  fear,"  he  says;  "and  I  think 
I  see  by  my  cousin's  face  that  it  is  growing  time  to  say 
good-night. — If  you  see  me  very  soon  again,  Mrs.  Yar- 
dray,  do  not  be  surprised,  for  I  can  scarcely  say  how 
much  I  have  enjoyed  this  evening." 


62  HOSLYJV'S  FORTUNE. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  cousins  are  riding  away,  and, 
as  Roslyn  stands  on  the  steps  in  the  moonlight  watching 
them,  Geoffrey  hears  her  humming  to  herself  the  air 
which  Laurent  sang  last. 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

THE   COMEDY   PROGRESSES. 

"  There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  too  close  to  a  girl 
when  you  are  in  love  with  her,"  says  Geoffrey,  moodily. 

It  is  to  Lettice  he  is  speaking ;  and  they  are  alone  to- 
gether in  the  garden,  he  lying  on  the  grass,  she  sitting 
demurely  upright  on  a  rustic  bench. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  such  a  thing  as  being  too  close  to 
anybody  whom  you  particularly  love  or  admire,"  she  re- 
plies. "  There  are  few  idols  that  will  bear  too  near  in- 
spection." 

"  You  don't  suppose  I  meant  that  one  might  be  too 
close  as  far  as  she  is  concerned  ? "  exclaimed  Geoffrey, 
more  energetically  than  lucidly.  "  I  meant  that,  as  far  as 
one's  own  interest  is  concerned,  one  might  be  too  close — 
too  familiar,  you  see.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  go  away  and 
let  Hoslyn  learn  to  have  some  kind  of  a  feeling  of  strange- 
ness toward  me,  for  now  she  treats  me  exactly  as  if  I  were 
her  brother." 

"  And  how  else  should  she  treat  vou  ? "  asks  Lettice. 
"  Are  you  not  like  a  brother  to  her  ?  Have  you  not  al- 
ways lived  with  her,  and  are  you  not  living  with  her  now 
in  just  that  relation?" 

"You  know  that  I  am  not ! "  he  answers.     "I  am  no 


THE  COMEDY  PROGRESSES.  03 

brother  to  her  at  all.  I  love  her,  Lettice ;  I  have  loved 
her  all  my  life — but  I  have  no  hope  that  she  will  ever 
marry  me." 

lie  is  lying  back,  with  his  hands  under  his  head,  and 
as  he  utters  the  last  word  his  eyes  meet  Lettice's  witli  such 
a  look  of  pain  in  them  that  the  girl's  eyes  soften  from 
sympathy. 

"  You  despair  too  soon,"  she  says.  "  It  seems  to  me 
that  if  I  were  a  man  I  would  not  easily  give  up  anything 
on  which  I  had  set  my  heart  or  my  will.  A  woman  is 
different " — her  slight  hands  clasp  together — "  a  woman 
must  submit  to  circumstances ;  but  a  man  should  conquer 
them.  You  have  many  advantages  in  being  so  close  to 
Roslyn,  though  there  is  a  disadvantage  connected  with  it, 
no  doubt.  She  sees  you  at  all  times — when  you  are  dull, 
when  you  are  cross,  when  you  are  altogether  out  of  sorts 
— not  like  Mr.  Laurent,  whom  she  only  sees  when  he  is 
on  his  best  behavior,  and  exerting  himself  to  be  agree- 
able ;  but  then  there  is  the  compensation  that  you  see  her 
also  at  all  times,  and  know  or  ought  to  know  better  how 
to  please  her  than  he  does." 

"  You  are  a  kind  comforter,"  says  Geoffrey,  "  but  I 
do  not  think  there  is  any  compensation  in  the  position  at 
all.  It  is  more  tantalizing  than  anything  else,  to  be  so 
near  and  yet  so  far — like  the  star  we  have  heard  of,  you 
know — to  be  treated  with  the  easy  familiarity  of  an  old 
shoe,  and  to  see  that  fellow  come  in  and  have  the  best  of 
everything — confound  him  !  " 

"  It  is  Laurent  you  are  jealous  of,  then — not  Colonel 
Duncan?" 

"  I  am  jealous  of  everybody,"  says  the  young  man, 
frankly  ;  u  but  I  certainly  think  there  is  more  to  fear 
from  Laurent  than  from  Duncan.     He — I  mean  Duncan 


Ctt  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

— is  too  old,  and  Koslyn  is  too  gay.  I  don't  believe  she 
would  marry  for  position  and  wealth,  and  I  don't  think 
she  could  have  any  other  reasons  for  marrying  him.  But 
Laurent — well,  he  is  different :  and  what  is  he  doing 
here  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answers  Lettice.  She  is  half  in- 
clined to  add,  "  I  think  my  father  knows,"  but  refrains — 
partly  from  habitual  caution,  partly  because  she  seldom 
mentions  her  father's  name  when  it  is  possible  to  avoid 
doing  so.  Mr.  Stanley  has  smiled  significantly  on  hear- 
ing of  Laurent  as  domiciled  at  Cliffton  and  made  familiar 
at  Yerdevale.  "A  gay  young  sprig,"  he  said,  "a  very 
gay  young  sprig.  Well,  I  wish  him  good  luck.  I'm 
always  glad  of  the  luck  of  my  friends." 

Now,  to  be  a  friend  of  Mr.  Stanley's  is  not  a  distinc- 
tion in  the  opinion  of  Eldon  County  ;  and  being  painfully 
aware  of  this,  Lettice  (bearing  herself  no  ill-will  to  Mr. 
Laurent)  does  not  mention  the  fact.  She  only  pauses  a 
moment,  and  then  adds : 

"  Of  course,  it  is  not  likely  that  I  would  know — but  I 
suppose  it  is  natural  that  he  should  stay  with  Colonel 
Duncan,  who  is  his  cousin." 

"  And  who  knows  no  more  of  him  than  we  do,"  says 
Geoffrey.  "  Lettice  " — he  hesitates — "  have  you  ever 
heard  your  father  speak  of  him  at  all  ? " 

"Very  little,"  answers  Lettice,  coloring.  "I  think 
father  has  known  him  in  New  Orleans,  and  he  met  him 
accidentally  in  Kirton  the  day  you  got  home.  Mamma 
told  me  he  brought  him  to  tea  that  evening ;  but  I  was 
here,  so  I  did  not  see  him  until,  if  you  remember,  he  was 
on  the  piazza  as  we  went  up." 

"  I  remember,"  says  Geoffrey,  grimly.  It  occurs  to 
him  with  a  sense  of  surprise  that  "  Mr.  Stanley's  associ- 


THE  COMEDY  PROGRESSES.  65 

ate,"  against  speaking  of  whom  he  warned  Roslyn  that 
evening,  should  be  at  this  present  moment  sitting  with 
Roslyn  in  the  drawing-room — for  she  was  called  from 
this  pleasant  garden-spot  by  the  intelligence  of  his  arrival. 
"  Come,  Lettice,  you  and  Geoffrey,"  she  said.  But  Lettice 
shook  her  head,  and  Geoffrey  did  not  stir.  "  I  will  stay 
here,"  said  the  former.  "  Mr.  Laurent  has  certainly  not 
come  to  see  me." 

"  I  echo  that  with  emphasis,"  says  Geoffrey,  doggedly ; 
and  so  Roslyn  goes  alone  to  the  house,  and  the  conversa- 
tion just  recorded  takes  place  between  those  left  behind. 

"While  it  is  taking  place  she  has  entered  the  drawing- 
room — where  Mrs.  Vardray  is  entertaining,  or  being  en- 
tertained by,  Mr.  Laurent — and  has  greeted  that  gentle- 
man. It  is  his  third  visit,  the  first  which  he  has  made 
alone  ;  but  already  he  advances  to  take  her  hand  with  the 
air  of  a  familiar  visitor. 

"You  must  forgive  an  idle  man  for  coming  to  cast 
himself  on  your  charity,  Miss  Vardray,"  he  says.  "My 
cousin  has  business  to  occupy  his  time,  but  I  have  none  ; 
and  with  a  horse  at  my  command,  and  the  road  to  Verde- 
vale  open,  what  could  I  do  but  come?" 

"  We  are  very  glad  to  see  you,"  answers  the  girl,  smil- 
ing. As  yet  she  is  so  fancy-free  that  the  words  come 
easily  and  lightly  from  her  lips.  She  is  really  glad  to  see 
him,  and  her  bright,  clear  glance  tells  him  so  as  well  as 
her  words.  He  is  young,  handsome,  entertaining,  ready 
with  graceful  compliments  and  glances  full  of  homage : 
what  girl  would  not  be  glad  to  see  such  a  cavalier,  es- 
specially  in  the  monotony  of  a  country  life,  where  any 
fresh  element  is  desirable? 

u  The  ride  alone  would  be  a  sufficient  inducement  for 
going  out  to-day,"  she  adds,  as  they  sit  down.     "  What  a 


66  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

beautiful  day  it  is ! — and  what  a  lovely  road  from  Cliffton 
here !  The  views  of  the  valley  from  the  bluffs  are  so  fine. 
By-the-by,  Mr.  Laurent,  have  you  seen  yet  the  one  lion  of 
our  neighborhood,  the  falls  of  the  river?" 

"I  have  not  seen  them,"  Laurent  answers,  "but  I 
think  I  have  heard  them ;  at  least,  at  night,  when  all 
other  sounds  are  hushed,  there  comes  into  my  window  a 
sound  suggestive  of  some  distant  Niagara." 

"  That  is  the  falls.  It  is  a  beautiful  place,  for  the  hills 
close  in  upon  the  river,  which  cuts  its  way  through  them 
in  a  series  of  splendid  rapids." 

"  I  must  see  it,"  says  Laurent,  with  an  appearance  of 
the  deepest  interest.  "  Will  you  be  my  guide  ?  Can  we 
not  ride  there  ?     I  should  like  it  very  much." 

"  So  should  I,"  answers  Roslyn  ;  "  but  it  is  rather  far 
for  a  ride.  We  usually  make  the  excursion  as  a  picnic, 
and  spend  the  day  on  the  rocks.  We  have  not  been 
there  at  all  this  year. — Why  should  we  not  go  to-morrow, 
mamma  ? " 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not,"  Mrs.  Var- 
dray  answers,  "  if  you  can  make  the  necessary  prepara- 
tions." 

"  We  do  not  need  to  make  many  preparations,"  says 
Roslyn.  "I  am  tired  of  picnics  in  which  the  whole 
neighborhood  joins.  Do  you  not  think" — she  looks  at 
Laurent — "  that  it  would  be  pleasanter  if  we  just  went 
ourselves  ? " 

"  Very  much  pleasanter,"  he  answers,  eagerly.  "  I 
suppose  you  mean  just  you  and  me." 

"  Oh,  by  no  means,"  she  replies,  laughing.  "  Setting 
aside  Mrs.  Grundy — or  mamma  there,  who  represents  her 
at  present — I  could  not  think  of  subjecting  either  of  us 
to  the  test  of  a  whole  day's  tete-a-tete.     When  I  said  l  just 


THE  COMEDY  PROGRESSES.  67 

ourselves,'  I  meant  mamma,  if  she  will  go — you  will, 
mamma,  won't  you  I — and  you  and  I  and  Lettice  and 
Geoffrey  and  Colonel  Duncan  and  the  children — they  will 
never  be  satisfied  to  be  left." 

"  I  think  it  is  a  very  good  idea,"  says  Mrs.  Yardray  ; 
"  and  if  I  can  not  go,  Miss  Mills  will  take  care  of  the  chil- 
dren and  look  after  the  lunch." 

"  It  is  settled,  then,"  says  Eoslyn,  gayly.  "  I  hope  you 
do  not  feel  dismayed,  Mr.  Laurent — a  rural  picnic  is 
sometimes  a  very  formidable  affair." 

"  Do  I  look  dismayed  ? "  asks  Laurent.  "  I  assure  you 
I  feel  delighted.  But,"  he  adds,  as  Mrs.  Yardray  is  at 
this  moment  opportunely  called  from  the  room,  "  I  can 
not  refrain  from  wishing  that  my  original  programme 
was  to  be  carried  out." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  wish  that  only  you  and  I  were 
going?"  asks  Roslyn,  with  her  piquant  smile.  "Then 
to  keep  you  in  that  mind,  it  is  a  fortunate  thing  that  the 
programme  is  not  to  be  carried  out.  One  bit  of  wisdom 
my  limited  experience  of  life  has  taught  me,  and  it  is 
that  if  one  does  not  want  to  grow  tired  of  things  or  peo- 
ple one  must  not  see  too  much  of  them." 

"  That  bit  of  wisdom  sounds  as  if  your  experience  of 
life  had  not  been  very  limited,"  says  Laurent.  "  Gener- 
ally speaking,  it  is  a  sad  and  disillusionizing  truth ;  but 
there  are  some  people  of  whom  one  feels  instinctively 
that  one  could  never  tire." 

"Are  there?  "  says  Roslyn,  in  a  tone  of  slight  incre- 
dulity. "  But  one's  instincts  are  sometimes  mistaken, 
you  know ;  so  it  is  well  not  to  subject  them  to  too  severe 
a  test.  I  am  glad  you  like  the  idea  of  a  day  of  gypsy- 
ing,"  she  adds,  changing  the  subject  quickly;  "and 
now  do  you  not  think  it  would  be  pleasanter  to  go  into 


68  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

the  garden  and  join  Lettice  and  Geoffrey,  than  to  sit 
here  ? " 

"  I  am  at  your  command,"  he  answers,  "  only  ventur- 
ing to  remark  that  it  is  pleasant  to  be  anywhere  with 
youP 

"  But  out-doors  on  a  summer  day  is  better  than  in- 
doors with  anybody,"  she  says,  taking  up  her  wide  straw 
hat ;  "  so  come." 

He  rises,  and  leaving  the  house,  they  stroll  side  by 
side,  as  on  the  first  evening  of  their  meeting,  across  the 
wide  lawn  into  the  pleasant  old  garden.  Here,  under  a 
spreading  tree,  they  find  the  rustic  seat,  the  impression 
of  a  figure  on  the  turf,  and  an  open  novel,  but  Lettice  and 
Geoffrey  have  vanished.  Roslyn  strongly  susj)ects  the 
truth — that,  seeing  Laurent  and  herself  issue  from  the 
house,  they,  by  mutual  consent,  doubled  around  the  hedge 
and  made  away ;  but  she  only  smiles,  and  says,  lightly : 

"  I  left  them  here,  but  it  seems  they  are  gone.  Let- 
tice, perhaps,  went  home,  and  Geoffrey  accompanied  her 
— it  is  a  pleasant  walk  through  the  woods  over  to  Mr. 
Stanley's  place." 

"Where  I  saw  you  first,"  says  Laurent,  in  a  tone  that 
gives  a  good  deal  of  meaning  to  the  words.  "  I  never 
imagined  that  I  should  have  reason  to  congratulate  my- 
self upon  possessing  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Stanley; 
but  I  did  that  night  when  I  saw  you  in  the  moonlight. 
Will  you  forgive  me  if  I  add,  but,  for  having  seen  you, 
and  desiring  to  know  you,  I  should  hardly  have  remem- 
bered that  I  had  a  cousin  living  in  this  neighborhood  ? " 

Considering  that  this  statement  is  purely  an  inspira- 
tion of  the  moment,  it  is  one  which  does  credit  to  Mr. 
Laurent's  inventive  power.  Roslyn  flushes  a  little,  for,  al- 
though she  has  a  steady  head,  this  is  very  subtile  flattery. 


THE  COMEDY  PROGRESSES.  69 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  are  indebted  to  the  chance 
which  turned  your  thoughts  in  that  direction,  then,"  she 
says  ;  "  for  whether  or  not  I  am  worth  knowing — no,  Mr. 
Laurent,  please  don't  say  that  I  am,  for  really  the  oppor- 
tunity for  a  compliment  was  too  obvious,  and  really,  also, 
you  don't  know — there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Colonel 
Duncan  emphatically  w." 

"  He  is  a  very  fine  fellow,  indeed,"  says  Laurent,  with 
the  least  j^ossible  tinge  of  patronage  in  his  tone.  "  I  am 
glad  to  know  him ;  but  if  you  fancy  that  pleasure  would 
detain  me — "  A  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders  completes 
the  sentence,  expressively. 

"  If  it  does  not,  it  ought  to  do  so,"  says  Roslyn,  de- 
cidedly. "  Colonel  Duncan  is  my  hero,  my  chevalier,  my 
type  of  a  noble  gentleman." 

"  Happy  Colonel  Duncan  !  "  says  Laurent,  letting  his 
dark,  brilliant  eyes,  full  of  expression,  rest  on  the  bright, 
young  face — while  to  himself  he  says,  "  She  cares  nothing 
about  him,  or  she  could  not  talk  of  him  in  this  manner." 

"  He  ought  to  be  happy  if  the  admiration  of  every 
one  who  knows  him  can  make  him  so,"  says  Roslyn. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  knowledge  of  your 
admiration  would  go  further  to  do  that  than  the  good 
opinions  of  every  one  else,"  says  Laurent,  thinking  that 
he  will  sound  her  a  little. 

She  blushes  like  a  rose,  but  no  change  of  expression 
comes  into  the  frank,  clear  eyes. 

"  Colonel  Duncan  has  always  been  very  kind  to  me," 
she  says ;  "but  I  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  his  sense  to 
fancy  that  he  rates  my  judgment  at  any  such  absurd  valu- 
ation." 

"There  are  some  valuations  with  which  wisdom  has 
nothing  to  do,"  Laurent  replies,  "  though  I  am  far  from 


70  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

meaning  to  imply  that  any  possibly  high  valuation  of 
your  opinion  would  be  absurd." 

"  In  other  words,  you  are  trying  to  see  how  many 
graceful  things  you  can  say  to  me,"  she  answers,  gayly ; 
"  but  please  don't  say  any  more,  for  I  assure  you  I  am  not 
accustomed  to  compliments,  and  they  might  have  a  very 
bad  effect,  if  taken  in  too  great  a  quantity.  Since  we 
have  not  found  Lettice  and  Geoffrey,  shall  we  return  to 
the  house  ? " 

"  On  the  contrary,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  make  a  sug- 
gestion, can  we  not  explore  those  woods  which  it  was  too 
late  to  enter  the  other  evening?  I  am  sure  there  are 
many  delightful  nooks  of  shade  and  coolness  in  their 
depths." 

"Indeed,  yes,"  replies  the  girl.  "I  do  not  think 
there  could  be  more  beautiful  places  anywhere  than  in 
those  woods ;  but  " — she  pauses,  hesitates — "  it  is  rather 
warm,  I  fear,  to  walk  this  morning." 

"  Now,  Miss  Yard  ray,"  says  her  companion,  seriously, 
"  I  call  this  most  cruel  and  unkind.  It  was  too  late  the 
other  evening,  and  now  it  is  too  warm  !  Are  you  deter- 
mined that  I  shall  not  enter  your  enchanted  forest  ? " 

«  No — if  you  really  care  to  go,  I  shall  be  glad  to  show 
you  all  my  favorite  places.  I  only  thought  that  another 
time  might  be  pleasanter — and  with  Lettice  and  Geoffrey." 

u  There  is  no  time  like  the  present,"  he  says ;  "  and  as 
for  Miss  Stanley  and  Mr.  Thorne — well,  you  must  forgive 
me  if  I  say  that  I  think  we  do  admirably  without  them. 
"Will  you  come  ? " 

He  holds  the  open  gate  in  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  plead 
more  strongly  than  his  words. 

Roslyn  hesitates  an  instant  longer — but  the  woman 
that  hesitates  is  lost.     She  goes. 


"UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD-TREE."  71 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  UNDER   THE    GEEEXWOOD-TREE." 

The  next  morning  finds  a  very  merry  party  starting 
from  the  door  of  Verde  vale.  In  an  uncovered  wagon- 
ette the  children  with  their  governess,  Miss  Mills,  and 
the  lunch-basket,  are  packed ;  while  Koslyn,  Lettice,  and 
Geoffrey  are  on  horseback.  Neither  Laurent  nor  Colonel 
Duncan  appears  in  the  cavalcade,  for  the  road  leads  past 
CI  iff  ton,  and  they  will  join  the  party  there. 

"I  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant  day,"  says  Mrs. 
Vardray,  standing  on  the  veranda-steps,  as  they  prepare 
to  start ;  and  Roslyn  answers,  gayly  : 

"  I  am  sure  we  shall." 

Geoffrey  is  not  so  sure ;  but  he  holds  his  peace,  and 
prepares  to  make  the  best  of  things.  "  You  can  never 
win  a  woman's  heart  by  being  sulky  and  cross,"  Lettice 
has  said  to  him  ;  and  he  has  determined  to  bear  her  coun- 
sel in  mind  and  endeavor  to  mend  his  manners,  which  of 
late  have  certainly  tended  toward  the  decidedly  sulky  and 
the  objectionably  cross. 

In  fiction,  as  in  actual  life,  a  man  in  such  a  position 
obtains  but  little  sympathy  :  his  suffering — which  is  most 
real — seems  to  those  who  are  not  enduring  like  pangs, 
very  fanciful ;  and  our  good  wishes  are  likely  to  go  with 
the  successful  rival  from  the  mere  fact  that  he  is  success- 
ful. Yet,  in  truth,  there  is  no  more  miserable  creature 
on  earth  than  the  lover  who  recognizes  that  the  heart  on 
which  all  his  hopes  of  happiness  are  set  is  either  beyond 
his  reach  or  hopelessly  drifting  away  from  him.     Geoffrey 


72  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

has  never,  from  his  early  boyhood,  made  any  plan  of  life 
in  which  Roslyn  did  not  bear  a  part,  and,  when  he  tries 
now  to  brace  his  courage  to  the  thought  of  a  life  without 
her,  a  sense  of  desolation  comes  over  him,  which  can 
hardly  be  expressed  in  words.  To  temper  this,  however, 
some  such  wisdom  as  that  contained  in  the  proverb,  "Les 
malheurs  des  malheurs  sont  ceux  qui  rt  arrivent  jamais" 
occurs  to  him,  for  even  in  a  love-affair  he  has  much  of 
the  sound  sense  which  we  call  practical.  "  A  wise  man 
does  not  cross  his  bridges  till  he  comes  to  them,"  he  says 
to  himself.  "Why  should  I  go  to  meet  what  may  never 
occur  ?  What  everybody  expects  Roslyn  to  do  is  hardly 
the  thing  she  is  likely  to  do.  If  she  does,  I  must  bear  it 
like  a  man,  I  suppose  ;  but  there  is  no  good  in  being  mis- 
erable by  anticipation." 

Fortifying  himself  with  these  reflections,  he  consented 
to  join  the  picnic,  and  now  prepares  to  endure  a  day  in 
the  companionship  of  the  two  men  whom  out  of  all  the 
world  he,  at  this  time,  most  heartily  detests.  Of  which 
of  the  two  he  is  most  jealous,  it  is  hard  to  tell.  What 
good  reason  he  has  to  fear  Colonel  Duncan  as  a  rival,  he 
is  well  aware ;  while  his  distrust  of  Laurent  is  as  strong 
as  it  is  instinctive.  But,  for  the  present,  neither  of  them 
is  here  to  share  or  to  monopolize  Roslyn's  attention. 
As  he  rides  by  her  side,  her  eyes,  her  voice,  her  smile,  are 
all  his  own,  and  so  sweet  and  blithe  are  they  that  he  is  be- 
guiled into  forgetfulness  of  the  disturbing  element  ahead, 
until  Lettice,  looking  down  the  shadow-flecked  road,  says  : 

"  Yonder  are  Colonel  Duncan  and  Mr.  Laurent  wait- 
ing for  us.     How  punctual  they  are  !  " 

"  Yery  punctual,  indeed,"  says  Geoffrey,  as  he,  also, 
looks  forward  and  perceives  two  horsemen  waiting  at  a 
point  where  the  road  divides — one  fork  leading  into  Cliff- 


"  UNDER   THE  GREENWOOD-TREE."  73 

ton,  the  other  continuing  along  the  river.  "  They  must 
be  anxious  to  start.     I  hope  we  have  kept  them  waiting." 

"  For  shame,  Geoffrey ! "  says  Roslyn.  "  I  can  not  im- 
agine what  is  the  matter  with  you  of  late — vou  are  so  bad- 
tempered  !  To  think  of  hoping  that  you  have  kept  peo- 
ple waiting — the  very  most  disagreeable  thing  in  the 
world ! — I  hope  that  you  have  not  waited  for  us  long," 
she  adds  with  a  smile  as  the  two  gentlemen  ride  forward 
to  meet  them. 

"  Not  at  all,"  answers  Colonel  Duncan.  "  You  have 
forgotten  what  an  extended  view  there  is  from  Cliffton. 
We  saw  you  half  a  mile  away,  and  so  rode  down  to  meet 
you.  I  am  glad  we  have  so  fine  a  day  for  the  excur- 
sion," he  goes  on,  as  he  turns  and  takes  his  place  by  her 
side. 

"  And  I  am  glad  you  have  been  tempted  to  join  us," 
says  Roslyn,  looking  up  at  him  with  frank,  sunshiny  eyes. 
"  I  was  half  afraid  that  you  would  scorn  the  whole  affair." 

"  Why  ? "  he  asks,  smiling.  "  Do  you  think  me  so  old, 
or  so  grave,  that  I  should  be  indifferent  to  a  day  of  sum- 
mer gypsying  ? " 

"  Certainly  neither  old  nor  grave,"  she  answers,  with  a 
laugh,  "but  dignified,  perhaps — and  then  the  falls  are  not 
new  to  you,  as  they  are  to  Mr.  Laurent.  But  I  am  very 
glad  you  have  come,"  she  repeats  quickly,  fearing  that  he 
may  think  otherwise ;  "  and  I  am  sure  we  shall  have  a 
very  pleasant  day." 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  are  enjoying  it,"  says  Colonel 
Duncan,  looking  at  the  joyousness  of  her  face,  which 
seems  to  reflect  all  the  sparkling  brightness  of  the  sum- 
mer morning,  the  glad  sunshine  on  the  hills,  the  glancing 
lights  and  lovely  shadows  of  the  river. 

"  Of  course,  I  am  enjoying  it,"  she  answers.     "  I  can 


74  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

not  understand  how  people  can  go  through  life,  taking  it 
in  a  quiet,  undemonstrative  way — like  Lettice,  for  in- 
stance. What  I  enjoy,  I  enjoy  with  my  whole  heart,  and 
soul,  and  strength." 

"  It  is  a  great  gift,  that  of  being  able  to  feel  so  intense- 
ly," says  her  companion.  "  The  only  drawback  is  that 
you  suffer  as  keenly  as  you  enjoy." 

"  I  suppose  I  would  if  1  had  anything  to  suffer,"  she 
answers,  "  but  I  have  never  had  a  grief  in  my  life ;  I  don't 
know  what  sadness  is.  I  sometimes  think  that  I  must  be 
a  very  shallow  creature  to  be  able  to  say  that,  but  it  is 
true." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  follows  at  all  that  you  are  shal- 
low," says  Colonel  Duncan.  "  Such  a  nature  is  rare,  but 
it  is  a  priceless  gift — not  only  to  yourself,  but  to  others. 
Why,  it  is  like  going  into  sunshine,  just  to  be  where  you 
are." 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  she  replies,  glancing  at 
him  with  a  smile ;  and,  in  doing  so,  she  meets  the  expres- 
sion of  his  eyes,  an  expression  of  admiration  and  tender- 
ness which  no  one  could  mistake.  All  the  passionate  love 
of  his  heart  is  clearly  revealed  at  that  instant ;  and  the 
girl — who,  standing  on  the  threshold  of  this  strange  mys- 
tery of  feeling,  unconsciously  shrinks  from  it — flushes  to 
the  roots  of  her  hair,  and  adds,  hastily  :  "  What  a  fine 
road  this  is  just  here !  Do  let  us  have  a  good,  stretching 
canter." 

She  touches  her  horse  with  the  whip  as  she  speaks, 
and  while  they  are  galloping  over  the  smooth  road,  Dun- 
can has  time  to  wonder  what  that  sudden  blush  and  con- 
fusion meant.  He  has  some  knowledge  of  women,  and  it 
seems  to  him  that  it  is  a  good  sign — a  sign  of  hope  for 
him.     It  is  the  first,  the  very  first,  token  the  girl  has  ever 


"  UNDER   THE  GREENWOOD-TREE."  75 

given  of  recognizing  his  devotion ;  and  he  feels  for  the 
first  time  as  if  he  trod  on  something  like  assured  ground. 
At  least  she  knows,  she  understands — "  and  it  shall  not  be 
my  fault  if  she  does  not  understand  more,"  he  thinks. 

Meanwhile  Laurent,  who  has  no  mind  to  excite  his 
cousin's  suspicion  or  jealousy  by  any  attempt  to  engross 
Roslyn's  attention,  has  been  riding  with  Lettice  and 
Geoffrey,  making  himself  agreeable,  and  impressing  them 
both  with  a  realization  of  his  powers  of  attraction.  "  I 
don't  think  that  even  I  could  resist  him,  if  he  were  to 
make  love  and  look  at  me  in  the  way  he  looks  at  Ros- 
lyn ! "  thinks  Lettice ;  while  Geoffrey  admits  to  himself 
with  grim  disdain  that  this  is  "  the  kind  of  fellow "  to 
play  havoc  with  women's  hearts. 

Roslyn's  canter  lasts  with  little  intermission  until  the 
place  of  their  destination  is  reached — a  wild  and  pictur- 
esque gorge,  where  the  river  in  a  rushing,  turbulent 
flood,  cuts  its  way  through  the  hills  that  tower  abruptly 
above  it,  and  falls  in  a  series  of  beautiful  cascades. 

The  party  dismount  and  fasten  their  horses  some  dis- 
tance from  the  river-bank,  then  on  foot  follow  a  winding 
path  that  leads  around  the  base  of  the  hills  to  the  mar- 
gin of  the  rushing  water.  What  words  can  describe  the 
beauty  of  such  a  spot  as  this,  so  "  lovely,  lonesome,  cool, 
and  green,"  that  it  almost  seems  as  if  one  might  be  re- 
freshed to  think  of  it  amid  the  burning  sands  of  a  desert! 
The  reposeful  charm  of  the  great  heights,  clad  in  green 
from  base  to  crest,  is  intensified  by  contrast  with  the 
whirling,  surging  water,  lashing  itself  to  foam  around 
masses  of  gray  rock,  and  sending  clouds  of  spray  heaven- 
ward from  the  feet  of  its  cataracts. 

Roslvn  has  hurried  forward,  while  Colonel  Duncan 
is  fastening  her  horse  and  his  own,  and  Laurent  finds 


76  EOSLYX'S  FORTUNE. 

her  on  the  margin  of  the  stream,  balancing  herself  in  an 
apparently  precarious  position  on  a  shelving  rock. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ? "  she  asks,  as  he  reaches 
her  side.     "  Is  it  not  splendid  ? " 

"  The  gorge,  do  you  mean  ? "  he  says.  il  It  seems  to 
be  very  fine ;  but  I  must  ask  you  to  show  me  its  beauties 
— and  I  beg  most  earnestly  that  you  will  find  a  safer  posi- 
tion." 

"  Than  this  ?  "  she  asks,  laughing.  "  Why,  I  was  just 
about  to  ask  if  you  do  not  want  to  follow  me  out  to  the 
middle  of  the  river.  I  have  often  gone  to  that  large 
bowlder  which  you  see  yonder,  by  springing  from  rock  to 
rock." 

"I  admire  such  wonderful  agility,"  says  Laurent, 
measuring  with  his  eye  the  distance  from  point  to  point, 
"  but  I  do  not  think  I  can  possibly  venture  to  imitate  it. 
If  there  were  any  danger  to  brave,  it  would  be  a  diiferent 
matter ;  but  consider  how  very  uncomfortable  and  how 
very  ridiculous  one  would  be  if  one  fell  into  the  water, 
and  had  to  wade  ashore ! " 

"  Geoffrey  can  tell  you  how  one  feels  under  those  cir- 
cumstances," says  Eoslyn,  turning  to  Geoffrey,  who,  with 
the  rest,  has  now  come  up.  "It  was  his  unhappy  fate 
once  to  test  the  depth  and  coldness  of  the  water  in  just 
that  way." 

"  You  don't  add  that  you  were  the  cause  of  it,"  says 
Geoffrey  ;  "but  Lettice  will  bear  witness  that  you  were." 

"  Yes,  she  was  the  cause,"  says  Lettice,  "  for  she  in- 
sisted that  you  could  take  a  leap  which  you  could  not.  It 
was  so  foolish  of  you  to  try,  that  I  think  you  deserved 
your  wetting." 

"  How  severe  you  are,  Miss  Stanley ! "  says  Laurent. 
"  Have  you  no  sympathy  for  the  follies  into  which  mascu- 


"  UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD-TREE."  77 

line  human  it  j  is  beguiled  by  the  influence  of  your  own 
sex?" 

"Not  any  at  all,"  answers  Lettice,  decidedly.  "If 
men  are  so  weak  as  to  be  influenced  to  folly  by  women,  I 
do  not  pity  them — especially  since,  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten,  I  am  sure  that  their  own  want  of  sense  is  the  cause 
of  their  folly." 

"  Thank  you,  Lettice,"  says  Geoffrey.  "  I  call  it  un- 
commonly kind  to  stand  by  a  fellow  in  this  handsome 
way." 

"  As  if  you  thought  that  I  meant  you ! '  says  Lettice, 
with  a  smile.  "  You  were  only  a  boy  then,  and  Roslyn — 
well,  Roslyn  was  always  a  tyrant." 

"  I  shall  certainly  not  come  to  you  for  a  character, 
Lettice,"  says  Roslyn. 

Laurent  looks  up  at  her  as  she  stands  still  balancing 
on  the  rock,  somewhat  above  him. 

"  Ma  reine"  he  says,  softly — so  softly  that  no  other 
ear  catches  the  words — "who  would  not  bow  to  your 
tyranny  1 " 

"  Come,  then,"  she  says,  with  a  mischievous  light  in 
her  eyes — and  before  any  one  can  interfere  to  prevent  or 
expostulate,  she  is  springing  from  rock  to  rock  toward  the 
center  of  the  river. 

Laurent  hesitates  an  instant — it  is  rather  a  dismaying 
prospect,  that  of  missing  some  slippery  rock,  and  flnding 
himself  in  the  surging,  eddying  water ;  but  he  feels  that 
having  embarked  on  a  career  of  gallantry,  and  being,  as 
it  were,  put  upon  his  mettle,  he  can  not  decline  the  chal- 
lenge. He  follows,  therefore,  with  commendable  cour- 
age, and  soon  finds  himself  standing  safely  by  Roslyn  on 
a  large  bowlder  in  the  middle  of  the  stream. 

"  Now,"  she  says,  turning  to  him,  "  are  you  not  repaid 


78  BOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

for  coming  ?  Look  up  the  stream — what  a  fine  view  we 
have  of  the  two  falls !  I  think  I  like  them  better  as  seen 
from  here  than  from  any  other  point." 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  spot,"  says  Laurent,  "  and  the  view 
is  superb  of  all  that  body  of  water  sweeping  down  upon 
us.  But  it  does  not  need  the  view  to  make  me  feel  re- 
paid for  coming,"  he  adds,  with  a  direct  look  into  her  eyes 
— "  for,"  he  thinks,  "  since  I  have  been  forced  to  run  this 
absurd  risk,  I  will  make  the  most  of  the  opportunity." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  not  a  lover  of  nature,  Mr. 
Laurent,"  she  says.  "At  least  I  observe  that,  whenever  I 
direct  your  attention  to  a  beautiful  scene,  you  manage  to 
imply  something  complimentary  to  ?ne,  who  am  insignifi- 
cant beyond  measure  when  compared  to  it." 

"  That  is  a  statement  open  to  question,"  replies  Lau- 
rent. "  It  is  not  that  I  love  nature  less,  but  that  I  love 
— forgive  me ! "  he  says,  abruptly  changing  his  tone  of 
badinage  to  one  of  serious  meaning.  "  Some  subjects 
should  be  held  apart  from  jest — though  jest  may  some- 
times border  so  close  on  earnest  that  it  is  rather  a  veil 
than  a  flippancy." 

"Yes,"  says  Koslyn,  somewhat  unmeaningly.  She 
has  thrown  a  stick  into  the  water,  and  is  apparently  en- 
gaged in  watching  its  gyrations  on  the  tossing  current, 
while  thinking  that  this  is  going  a  little  further  than  she 
likes — or,  at  least,  a  little  faster.  It  is  not  to  be  denied 
that  her  fancy  is  enlisted  in  Laurent's  favor ;  but,  despite 
this  fact,  she  has  been  conscious,  from  the  first,  of  an  in- 
stinctive distrust  of  him,  an  instinctive  sense  that  his 
words  of  homage  do  not  ring  wholly  true.  She  suspects 
him  of  desiring  to  trifle  with  her,  and  she  has  decided  to 
meet  him  at  his  own  game.  "  Perhaps  I  may  make  it 
earnest  for  him  before  he  knows  what  he  is  about,"  she 


"  UNDER   THE  GREENWOOD-TREE."  79 

thinks,  with  a  little  thrill  of  anticipative  triumph.  "  It 
would  serve  him  right." 

But  these  were  the  reflections  of  reason  and  coolness 
in  solitude.  Xow,  alone  with  him,  exposed  to  all  the 
fascination  of  his  poetic  face,  his  eloquent  eyes,  his  modu- 
lated tones,  she  feels  that  her  best  safety  lies,  perhaps,  in 
retreat,  although  she  does  not  part  with  her  armor  of  non- 
chalance. 

"Excuse  me,"  she  says,  with  a  slight  start;  <;I  an- 
swered at  random,  I  fear,  for  the  water  makes  so  much 
noise  that  it  is  difficult  to  hear  distinctly — and  then  I  was 
so  much  engaged  in  watching  my  stick.  See,  there  it 
goes !  Fancy  if  it  were  you  or  I  being  tossed  about  like 
that !  It  may  be  our  fate  really,  if  we  should  miss  our 
footing." 

"  It  is  already  my  fate — in  a  typical  sense,"  says  Lau- 
rent, readily  accepting  the  diversion,  and  thinking  that 
she  has  more  savoir-faire  than  he  would  have  given  her 
credit  for.  "  Have  you  ever  thought  what  it  must  be, 
Miss  Yardray,  to  be  tossed  from  one  wave  of  circum- 
stances to  another,  to  be  the  plaything  of  the  currents  of 
life,  as  that  stick  is  of  these  waters  \ " 

"  Why  should  I  \ "  asks  Roslyn.  "  A  human  being  is 
not  an  inanimate  stick ;  a  man  ought  to  be  able  to  guide 
himself,  and  not  be  the  plaything  of  waves  and  currents." 

"Ought!"  he  repeats,  with  a  smile  half-sad,  half-bit- 
ter. "  Yes,  I  grant  you,  he  ought ;  but  do  many  of  us 
do  what  we  ought  to  ?  I,  at  least,  am  a  striking  exanrple 
of  the  contrary.  I  have  frittered  away  my  time,  my 
talents,  my  opportunities,  until  now  that  stick  typifies  my 
life  only  too  accurately." 

"  I  hope  you  are  too  severe  on  yourself,"  says  Hoslyn 
— he  has  gained  his  point  and  interested  her,  as  the  ex- 


80  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

pression  of  her  face  shows.  "  Even  if  you  have  done  all 
this,  you  are  not  a  stick,  and  you  can  do  better  yet." 

"Perhaps,"  he  says,  with  meditative  mournfulness ; 
"if  I  had  an  object,  au  aim,  something  to  nerve  my  pur- 
pose :  but  this  is  what  I  lack.  Life  has  never  seemed  to 
me  to  hold  anything  worth  striving  for.  Now,  you  know, 
to  bring  out  whatever  is  good  in  him,  a  man  must  have 
something  for  which  to  strive — some  object  above  and 
beyond  him,  to  be  at  once  inspiration  and  reward." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  says  Roslyn  ;  "  but  is  not  this  to 
be  found  ? " 

"  Many  people  find  it  easily,"  he  says,  with  a  slight 
accent  of  contempt ;  "  but  they  are  people  readily  satisfied. 
I  do  not  find  it — I  mean  that  my  life  heretofore  has  not 
found  it — because  the  aims  that  satisfy  most  men  do  not 
satisfy  me.  I  search  for  Egeria,  perhaps — do  you  know 
where  she  is  to  be  found  ? " 

The  look  that  accompanies  this  question  says  more 
than  a  volume  of  speech,  and  Hoslyn  thrills  with  that 
mingled  sense  of  danger  and  pleasure  which  gives  a  sub- 
tile zest  to  episodes  of  this  kind.  It  is  not  a  vulgar  flir- 
tation, but  a  playing  lightly  with  issues  which  may  be 
fraught  with  gravity,  a  warding  off  seriousness  because 
feeling  that  the  time  for  it  has  not  yet  come. 

"  No,"  she  answers,  shaking  her  head.  "  I  do  not 
number  any  nymphs  among  my  acquaintances.  But  they 
are  generally  found  in  sylvan  haunts,  I  believe ;  so  this 
might  be  a  good  place  to  look  for  her." 

"  Perhaps  I  have  found  her,"  he  says,  smiling. 

"  Then  in  that  case  there  is  no  need  to  look,"  she  re- 
plies. "  But  now  I  think  that  we  had  better  go  back  to 
the  shore,  for  it  is  a  laborious  climb  to  the  upper  fall,  and 
I  see  the  others  have  started." 


"OX  THE  SAME  SPOT."  SI 

"  Let  them  start,"  says  Laurent.  "  Why  can  we  not 
stay  here  ?  We  see  the  fall  without  the  trouble  of  climb- 
ing to  it." 

u  You  may  stay  if  you  like,"  says  Roslyn.  "  You 
will  make  a  very  picturesque  object  alone  on  this  rock  in 
the  middle  of  the  river.  I  will  tell  you  how  you  look 
from  the  upper  fall." 

With  a  laugh  she  turns  away,  and,  before  he  can  an- 
swer, is  half-way  across  the  river,  springing  lightly  from 
rock  to  rock.  He  has  no  alternative  but  to  follow — his 
vexation  tempered  by  amusement,  and  a  dawning  sense 
that  there  is  to  be  even  more  piquancy  in  the  affair  than 
he  had  reckoned  upon. 

They  rejoin  the  rest  of  the  party  at  the  upper  fall, 
and  an  hour  or  two  are  spent  in  climbing  over  rocks,  being 
wet  by  spray,  gathering  ferns,  rescuing  children  from 
perilous  positions,  and  all  the  other  amusements  of  a  day 
of  gypsying.  Finally,  Miss  Mills  proposes  luncheon ;  and 
with  somewhat  exhausted  energies  and  very  good  appe- 
tites the  party  assemble  in  a  romantic  spot  by  the  side 
of  the  brawling  stream.  Here  they  are  discussing,  with 
much  relish,  sandwiches  and  cold  chicken,  jellies  and 
cakes,  when  a  sound  is  heard  which  carries  consternation 
with  it — a  long,  low,  distant  roll  of  thunder ! 


CHAPTER  Yin. 


"on  the  same  spot." 


Knives  and  forks  are  laid  down,  and  the  party  gaze 
at  one  another  in  dismay.     A  thunder-storm  out  in  the 


82  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

woods  is  no  trifle,  and  shelter  near  by  there  is  none.  Miss 
Mills  looked  up  appeaiingly  to  the  blue  sky  overhead. 

"  Do  you  think  there  can  be  a  storm  at  hand  ? "  she 
asks,  vaguely  and  generally,  of  the  company. 

"  I'll  take  an  observation,"  says  Geoffrey,  rising. 

Colonel  Duncan  goes  with  him,  and  they  climb  the 
hill  which  overshadows  them,  so  as  to  obtain  a  wider  view 
of  the  sky.  On  gaining  the  eminence,  they  at  once  per- 
ceive great  masses  of  dark  clouds  in  the  southwest,  at 
sight  of  which  Geoffrey  shakes  his  head. 

"  There  is  certainly  a  heavy  storm  coming,"  he  says. 
u  The  sooner  we  start  for  home  the  better." 

"  Yes,"  says  Colonel  Duncan,  "  but  you  will  not  be 
able  to  reach  Yerdevale  before  the  storm  bursts.  We 
may  reach  Cliffton,  however,  if  we  ride  fast ;  so  let  us 
get  off  as  soon  as  possible." 

Their  report  ends  the  feast  summarily,  and  prepara- 
tions for  departure  are  vigorously  made.  The  children, 
with  their  mouths  still  full,  clamber  into  the  wagonette, 
where  Miss  Mills  is  exhorting,  entreating,  and  command- 
ing to  haste — being  one  of  those  people  whom  the  mere 
thought  of  lightning  fills  with  nervous  terror — and  the 
equestrians  mount  their  horses  as  soon  as  the  latter  can 
be  saddled.  Meanwhile  the  cloud  is  moving  close,  while 
louder  and  more  loud  the  roll  of  thunder  comes. 

"  We  must  ride  very  fast,"  says  Colonel  Duncan,  as 
he  lifts  Koslyn  to  her  saddle.  "  A  cloud  of  this  kind  ad- 
vances rapidly." 

"  So  will  we !  "  she  answers,  gayly.  "  If  it  can  catch 
us,  it  may  wet  us — now  for  a  breathless  gallop  !  " 

It  is  a  very  breathless  gallop,  and,  by  the  time  they 
reach  the  gates  of  Cliffton,  the  heavens  are  obscured  by 
darkness,  lightning  is  flashing  around,  and  thunder  roar- 


"  ON  THE  SAME  SPOT."  S3 

ing  above  them.  But  they  accomplish  the  distance  well, 
for  the  first  heavy  drops  of  rain  are  falling  on  the  leaves 
of  the  trees  as  they  ride  up  the  avenue.  They  dismount 
as  hurriedly  as  they  mounted,  the  wagonette  is  unloaded, 
and  the  horses  have  hardly  been  led  away,  when  the  storm 
bursts  in  all  its  fury. 

It  is  a  fury  which  makes  them  truly  grateful  to  be 
sheltered  from  it,  as  they  watch  the  descending  torrents 
of  rain,  and  see  the  trees  tossing  and  swaying  in  the  wind. 
"  How  fortunate  that  we  reached  here  just  in  time ! "  they 
are  saying  to  one  another.  Roslyn,  alone,  does  not  join 
in  the  congratulations,  having  walked  to  a  window,  where 
she  stands  looking  silently  out. 

"What  fascinates  you?"  asks  Colonel  Duncan,  going 
to  her  side.  "  Are  you  thinking  how  wet  you  would  be 
if  we  had  been  ten  minutes  later  in  starting,  or  the  rain 
ten  minutes  earlier  in  coming  over  ? " 

"  Xo,"  she  answers,  turning  her  bright  eyes  on  him. 
"  I  was  thinking  that  I  shall  probably  never  have  as  good 
an  opportunity  again  to  be  out  in  such  a  storm  as  this — 
and  I  have  always  wanted  to  be !  " 

"  Why  ?  You  don't  suppose  that  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant, do  you  ? " 

"  Xot  in  the  sense  you  mean,  perhaps — but  it  would 
be  exhilarating.  Don't  you  want  to  test  everything? 
What  is  the  good  of  living,  if  one  does  not  taste  every 
possible  sensation  ? " 

He  smiles  as  one  might  at  a  child. 

"  I  confess  that  ambition  has  never  occurred  to  me," 
he  says.     "  Where  did  you  learn  such  ideas  ?  " 

"  Are  they  strange  ? "  she  asks.  "  It  seems  to  me  the 
most  natural  thing  imaginable — to  desire  to  extract  from 
life  all  that  it  holds.     But,"  she  goes  on,  with  a  quick 


Si  EOSLVX'S  FORTUNE. 

change  of  subject,  "  do  you  know  that  I  have  nevrer  been 
at  Cliff  ton  before,  except  once,  when  I  was  a  very  little 
girl,  and  papa  brought  me  here  with  him  ? " 

"  I  remember  it  well,"  says  Duncan.  "  It  was  soon 
after  I  returned  from  the  army,  and  your  father  came  to 
see  me.  He  had  you  with  him ;  you  were  so  pretty — 
such  a  fairy  rather  than  a  child — that  I  think  I  lost  my 
heart  to  you  then.  That  was  ten  years  ago.  I  have  been 
very  constant,  have  I  not  ? " 

"  Yery,"  she  answers,  lightly.  "I  remember  that  you 
were  as  kind  to  me  then  as  you  have  been  since.  We 
went  into  the  garden,  and  you  feasted  me  on  grapes.  Can 
we  not  go  into  that  garden  agaiu  ? " 

"  I  wish  it  were  possible — perhaps  it  may  be  when  the 
rain  ceases,  if  you  do  not  mind  getting  your  feet  wet. 
Meanwhile,  look  around  my  bachelor's  quarters,  and  tell 
me  if  you  do  not  think  them  fairly  comfortable." 

"  Much  more  than  that,"  she  answers,  glancing  over 
the  spacious,  handsome  room — then,  catching  sight  of  her 
own  picture,  she  blushes  quickly. 

"  You  see  that  I  have  at  least  your  shadow  here,"  he 
says. 

While  this  conversation  is  taking  place  at  the  window, 
Laurent  has  been  endeavoring  to  console  the  nervousness 
of  Miss  Mills,  who  has  retreated  to  a  remote  corner,  and 
assures  him  that  she  always  retires  to  a  dark  room,  and  if 
possible  to  a  feather-bed,  when  a  thunder-storm  is  abroad ; 
while  Lettice  and  Geoffrey  are  trying  to  restrain  the  rest- 
lessness of  the  children.  But  the  latter  detects  presently 
a  smile  on  Lettice's  face  as  she  glances  at  the  window 
tete-a-tete,  and  he  forthwith  demands  to  know  the  cause 
of  it. 

"  You  are  a  very  inquisitive  person,"  she  says.     "  Can 


"  ON  THE  SAME  SPOT."  85 

not  one  smile  without  being  called  upon  to  render  an  ac- 
count of  the  why  and  wherefore  thereof  2  Well,  if  you 
must  know,  I  onlv  smiled  because  I  wondered  how  lios- 
lyn  feels  with  the  consciousness  that  the  attention  of  every 
man  here  is  centered  on  her,  that  she  is  the  supreme  ob- 
ject of  interest  to  each  one  of  you,  and  that  you  each 
regard  with  jealous  envy  whoever  happens  to  engross  her 
for  the  time  being !  Yonder  is  Mr.  Laurent,  fidgeting 
while  Miss  Mills  describes  to  him  minutely  how  her  great- 
grand-aunt  was  struck  by  lightning ;  and  here  are  you 
dying  to  go  and  challenge  Colonel  Duncan !  There  is 
too  much  monotony  in  the  matter — there  ought  to  be  a 
rival  introduced  for  the  sake  of  picturesque  and  dramatic 
effect — I  ought  to  be  one  of  the  bewitching  intriguantes,, 
who,  in  novels,  come  in  to  cross  the  path  and  distract 
the  admirers  of  the  heroine." 

"  What  noncense ! "  says  Geoffrey,  smiling  in  spite  of 
himself.  "  Do  you  know  I  think  you  are  very  well  cal- 
culated to  be  a  bewitching  intriguante?"  he  adds,  looking 
at  the  girl  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  as  a  stranger  might 
look.  "  There  is  something  about  you  very  attractive, 
and  then  one  feels  that  you  don't  lie  altogether  on  the  sur- 
face, as  so  many  women  do — and  that  is  a  great  thing." 

"  It  is  my  turn  to  say  '  nonsense,'  now,"  replies  Let- 
tice,  flushing  a  little.  "  Don't  be  so  personal,  Geoff.  Do 
you  know — pray  don't  murder  me — that  I  think,  if  I  were 
Roslyn,  I  would  marry  Colonel  Duncan?  lie  is  a  splen- 
did creature  !  Look  at  him  now  as  he  stands  talking  r<> 
her;  how  much  homage  and  deference,  together  with 
simplicity,  his  manner  expresses  !  " 

"You  see  wonderful  things,  Lettice,"  says  Geoffrey. 
"I  think  the  half  of  them  are  in  your  own  imagination. 
Ileigh-ho !  will  this  confounded  rain  never  stop,  I  won- 


86  EOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

der?     I  don't  like  being  shut  np  in  this  place,  at  all.     I 
think  I  would  rather  have  been  drenched." 

"  The  rain  is  too  violent  to  last  long,"  says  Lettice. 
"  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  clear  in  an  hour." 

She  proves  a  true  prophet.  In  an  hour  the  clouds 
have  dispersed,  and  the  wThole  drenched  world  is  bathed 
in  golden  sunshine  again.  Since  the  woodland  dinner 
was  cut  short  in  so  unsatisfactory  a  manner,  Colonel 
Duncan,  as  soon  as  they  entered  the  house,  ordered 
a  collation  to  be  served ;  and  so  it  is  that  they  are 
lingering  in  the  dining-room  around  the  table,  playing 
wTith  their  wine-glasses  and  talking  lightly,  when  the 
sudden  burst  of  glory  comes,  which  transforms  the 
dripping,  glittering  earth  to  fairy-land.  Through  the 
French  windows  they  look  out  on  the  garden,  and,  as 
the  sunlight  falls  upon  it,  Roslyn  utters  an  exclamation 
of  delight. 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful,  how  wonderfully  beautiful ! "  she 
cries.  "  What  a  lovely  place !  It  looks  as  if  it  were  en- 
chanted. Colonel  Duncan,  you  promised  that,  when  the 
rain  ceased,  I  should  go  out  there.  Now  I  claim  your 
promise." 

"  I  am  really  afraid  it  is  too  wet,"  says  Colonel  Dun- 
can, doubtfully — divided  between  his  desire  to  gratify  her, 
and  his  fear  of  the  imprudence. 

"  My  dear  Koslyn,  you  must  not  thhik  of  such  a  thing ! " 
cries  Miss  Mills. 

"  The  idea  is  absurd,"  says  Geoffrey,  shortly.  "  You 
might  as  well  have  stayed  out  in  the  storm." 

Roslyn  rises  from  the  table  with  a  smile  that  from 
her  childhood  has  always  meant  a  serene  and  immovable 
intention  of  having  her  own  way. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  all,"  she  says.     "  I 


"  OX  TUB  SAME  SPOT."  87 

do  not  insist  upon  anybody  else  being  drenched  ;  but  I  do 
not  mind  it — and  I  am  going." 

She  moves  toward  one  of  the  windows  as  she  speaks, 
and  Colonel  Duncan  follows  her.  No  one  else  stirs,  and 
Laurent  smiles  as  he  watches  them — a  quiet,  rather  pleased 
smile,  so  Lettice  curiously  notes — as  he  lifts  a  glass  of 
wine  to  his  lips. 

"  Well,  this  is  certainly  damp,"  says  Boslyn  to  her 
companion,  as  they  walk  along  the  wet  gravel-paths,  and 
receive  a  shower  of  rain-drops  from  every  shrub  that 
they  unguardedly  touch  in  passing.  "I  feel  as  if  I  were 
very  seliish  in  having  brought  you  out  to  be  made  uncom- 
fortable, just  to  gratify  my  caprice." 

"You  did  not 'bring  me  out,"  he  answers.  "I  came 
of  my  own  free-will  and  pleasure ;  and  as  for  my  being  a 
little  wet,  it  is  a  matter  of  no  importance.  But  I  am  con- 
cerned about  you" 

"  There  is  no  need  to  be,  I  assure  you.  I  do  what  I 
like — I  have  always  done  what  I  liked — and  I  never  take 
cold.  Besides,  I  love  water,  and  I  would  not  miss  ram- 
bling through  this  garden  just  now  for  anything.  It  is 
like  Aladdin's  magic  garden,  every  tree  and  shrub  hung 
with  precious  stones.  Only  Aladdin's  garden  had  no  such 
delicious  odors  in  it." 

He  smiles,  well  pleased  with  her  delight,  and  so,  un- 
heeding the  dampness,  they  wander  on — he  pointing  out 
what  he  has  done  and  what  he  yet  hopes  to  do  in  the  way 
of  improvement,  she  listening  with  interest  and  making 
suggestion-.  Finally,  pausing  at  a  large  grape-arbor,  he 
says : 

"  Do  you  remember  this  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes;  I  remember  it  well,"  she  replies,  looking 
around.     "  This  is  where  you  brought  me  when  I  was 


88  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

here  as  a  child.  What  a  feast  of  grapes  I  had,  to  be  sure! 
And  there  is  the  very  seat  on  which  I  sat,  is  it  not  ? " 

She  indicates  a  roughly  twisted  rustic  bench  under  the 
shadow  of  the  arbor,  and  he  answers,  quietly : 

"  It  is  the  very  seat ;  I  have  never  let  it  fall  to  decay. 
I  would  ask  you  to  sit  down  on  it  again,  but  it  is  too  wet. 
I  should  like  to  ask  you  the  same  question  that  I  asked 
when  we  sat  on  it  before." 

"  Must  I  necessarily  be  sitting  on  the  bench  for  you 
to  do  so  % "  she  asks,  with  utter  unconsciousness  of  his 
meaning.  "  If  that  is  the  case,  I  think  I  can  venture  to 
sit  down  long  enough  to  hear  the  question,  at  least. 
Now" — she  sits  down  and  looks  up  at  him — "  was  it,  'Do 
you  like  grapes  ? ' " 

"  No,"  he  answers,  smiling,  yet  with  a  certain  gravity 
of  tone.  "  It  was  not  that.  You  had  finished  the  grapes, 
and  we  were  sitting  here  talking,  when  I  said  to  you, 
'  Will  you  be  my  wife  ? '  " 

Like  a  flash,  a  tide  of  scarlet  comes  to  Roslyn's  face, 
and  she  springs  to  her  feet  as  if  he  had  stung  her.  Her 
first  instinctive  feeling  is  that  of  resentment — a  dim  sense 
that  he  has  taken  unfair  advantage  of  her. 

"I  was  a  child  then,"  she  says,  abruptly,  "so  I  sup- 
pose there  was  no  harm  in  such  a  jest ;  but  I  am  not  a 
child  now." 

She  would  walk  away  and  end  the  matter,  but  he 
stands  in  her  jjath  and  looks  at  her  with  serious,  aston- 
ished eyes. 

"  Surely  you  do  not  think  I  meant  the  question  as  a 
jest?"  he  says,  with  a  controlled  power,  a  depth  and 
meaning  in  his  tone,  which  at  once  assert  their  influence 
over  her.  "  Surely  you  know  better  than  that.  Women 
are  not  blind  to  the  fact  that  a  man  loves — as  yon  know, 


"  ON  THE  SAME  SPOT:'  89 

you  must  know,  liow  long  and  how  well  I  have  loved 
you.  The  question  I  have  just  asked  has  trembled  on 
my  lips  for  many  a  day ;  but  I  should  not  have  asked 
it  now  if  the  chance  to  speak  here  had  not  seemed  so 
propitious.  The  past  seemed  to  link  itself  with  the 
present ;  and  the  child  to  whom  I  lost  my  heart  is  the 
woman  I  love.  Tell  me,  is  there  any  hope  that  you  will 
be  my  wife  \ " 

As  his  voice  trembles  over  the  last  words — too  eager, 
too  earnest,  for  an  unnecessary  phrase — the  girl  realizes 
the  power  which  rests  in  her  hands,  and  the  value  of  that 
which  is  offered  her.  She  feels  awed  and  humbled  by 
this  consciousness,  touched  by  the  knowledge  of  the  devo- 
tion that  has  so  long  followed  her  careless  footsteps, 
and  more  than  sorry  for  the  pain  she  must  inflict.  She 
looks  at  him  with  eyes  that  express  all  this  before  she 
speaks. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  ? "  she  says,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I 
can  not — you  must  know  that  I  can  not." 

"  Why  can  not  you  \ "  he  asks,  quietly — hardly  a  sign 
betraying  the  pain  that  wrings  his  heart.  "  Is  it  because 
you  do  not  love  me?" 

"  Ntft  in  that  way,"  she  answers,  hurriedly.  "  I  can 
not  think  of  such  a  thing" — half  unconsciously,  she 
shrinks  as  she  speaks :  "  please  forget  it — please  do  not 
talk  of  it  again ! " 

"  You  need  not  fear,"  he  answers.  "  I  only  wanted 
certainty,  and  now  I  have  it.  No,  I  will  not  talk  of  it 
again.     Here,  where  the  hope  had  birth,  I  will  bury  it." 

"  I  am  sorry — I  am  very  sorry ! ':  she  says,  looking 
wistfully  into *his  face. 

"  So  am  I,"  he  answers,  with  a  strange,  half-sad  smile  ; 
"  but  we  can  not  help  it,  either  of  us,  so  we  will  say  no 


90  RCteLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

more  about  it.  Now  I  think  we  had  better  return  to  the 
house,  for  I  fear  you  are  very  damp." 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  she  answers.  "  I  have  only  my- 
self to  blame,  you  know.  Oh,  I  wish,  I  wish  this  had  not 
happened ! "  she  says,  clasping  her  hands.  "  But  you 
must  see  yourself  that  I  don't  suit  you  in  the  least." 

She  speaks  with  an  air  of  appealing  argument  that 
almost  makes  him  smile  again.  But  he  only  replies, 
quietly : 

"  Not  in  the  least,  my  dear — since  you  don't  think  so, 
certainly  not  in  the  least." 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

A   WARNING- — AND    ITS    RESULT. 

One  person,  at  least,  has  no  doubt  of  what  has  oc- 
curred in  the  garden,  when  the  two  people,  who  went  out 
so  gayly,  return  with  grave  and  serious  countenances.  He 
smiles  to  himself  with  a  sense  of  pleasure,  keener  because 
tinctured  with  relief.  For,  after  all,  who  can  count  on  a 
woman  ? — and  this  woman  has  by  no  means  proved  so 
susceptible  to  his  attractions  as  he  anticipated.  It  was 
quite  possible  that  she  might  have  accepted  all  that  Colo- 
nel Duncan  offers,  and  no  one  knows  better  than  Lau- 
rent that,  had  she  been  wise  with  the  wisdom  of  the  world, 
she  would  have  done  so.  But,  instead,  she  has  exhibited 
just  the  degree  of  folly  on  which  he  counted,  and  has 
served  his  purpose  in  the  most  complete  manner.  "  Good 
Heaven  !  how  lucky  I  was  to  come  in  the  nick  of  time  ! ' 
he   says   to  himself,  with   a  comfortable  assurance  that 


A    WARNING— AND  ITS  RESULT.  01 

the  result  for  Duncan  might  have  been  very  different 
had  he  (Laurent)  not  brought  his  fascinations  to  bear 
on  Roslyn. 

Meanwhile,  to  Duncan  himself,  at  this  time,  there  is 
nothing  very  clear,  except  that  it  is  necessary  not  to  be- 
tray to  Roslyn  how  deeply  the  blow  has  struck.  He 
bears  himself  well  so  long  as  the  party  remain  ;  but  that 
is  not  very  long,  for  Roslyn  is  nervously  anxious  to  be 
gone,  and  Geoffrey  seconds  her  with  such  hearty  good- 
will that  they  are  soon  homeward  bound.  Their  host 
sees  them  off  with  a  courtesy  which  does  not  fail  in  the 
least  particular,  and,  standing  on  the  portico,  watches 
them  until  they  pass  out  of  the  gate.  Then  he  turns  and 
goes  into  the  house,  to  face  alone  the  realization  of  what 
has  befallen  him. 

Yet  it  is  simple  enough.  He  has  asked  Roslyn  to  be 
his  wife,  and  she  has  said  no.  All  is  over — his  hopes, 
his  plans,  his  very  life,  as  it  were,  blotted  out  by  that 
word  from  a  girl's  lips.  He  has  been  so  single-hearted  in 
his  devotion — he  has  given  so  much,  and  thought  so  little 
of  return — that  he  is  startled  now  by  the  passionate 
strength  of  his  despair.  "I  knew  how  I  loved  her,  I 
knew  the  thought  of  her  was  twined  into  my  heart,"  he 
says  to  himself ;  "  but  I  did  not  know  how  awful  it  would 
be  to  have  to  do  without  her." 

Then  he  thinks,  or  tries  to  think,  how  mad  he  has  been 
to  hope  for  any  other  end.  How  staid,  and  grave,  and 
middle-aged  he  must  seem  to  this  girl  in  the  first  flush  of 
her  youth — the  girl  who  has  by  her  side  a  lover  fitted  for 
her  in  every  respect !  "  "What  could  be  more  natural  than 
that  Geoffrey  Thorne  should  win  her  heart?"  he  thinks, 
in  his  sadness.  "  God  grant  he  may  deserve  her !  But 
how  I  would  have  loved  her,  and  cared  for  her,  and  made 


92  BOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

her  life  a  thing  of  sunshine,  if  she  had  but  given  me  the 
power ! " 

So  it  comes  back  to  that  bitter  "  if,"  which  makes  the 
burden  of  such  anguish.  The  mystery  of  it  is  almost  ap- 
palling. Why  should  that  be  denied  to  one  which  is 
given  to  another,  with  often  less  desert  ?  How  is  it  that 
love  (be  it  ever  so  true-hearted)  can  not  win  love  in  re- 
turn, but  must  stand  back  and  see  its  crown  of  life  taken 
down  by  careless  and  sometimes  by  unworthy  hands? 
There  is  no  answer  for  these  questions,  asked  as  they  are 
by  many  passionate  hearts  ;  and  there  is  no  hope,  no  com- 
fort, to  lighten  the  darkness  of  such  an  hour  as  passes 
over  Hugo  Duncan  now. 

It  has  set  its  mark  upon  his  face,  deepening  lines 
which,  before  this,  were  scarcely  to  be  perceived,  and 
giving  an  altogether  new  expression  to  his  eyes  when 
Laurent  sees  him  next.  Even  the  man  who  holds  him- 
self accountable  for  this  suffering  is  moved  to  pity  it  a 
little.  "  Of  course  it  is  better  so,"  he  thinks  ;  "  for,  apart 
from  its  interference  with  my  claims,  the  marriage  would 
have  been  absurd  ;  but  I  am  sorry  for  him  !  This  comes 
of  the  folly  of  loving  one  woman  instead  of  loving  woman 
in  general.  Like  the  uncle,  whose  pathetic  story  he  re- 
lated to  me,  he  will  probably  live  and  die  faithful  to  his 
present  passion.  Otherwise,  it  would  hardly  have  been 
worth  while  to  interfere." 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  says  Duncan — the  two  men 
are  sitting  together  with  their  cigars  in  the  summer  dusk ; 
and  Laurent,  absorbed  in  the  thoughts  given  above,  starts 
at  the  sudden  sound  of  that  quiet  voice — "  I  have  been 
thinking,  Yictor,  what  is  best  to  be  done  about  your  af- 
fairs. But  I  am  at  a  loss  how  to  advise,  or  to  help  you, 
unless  I  know  more  of  your  tastes  and  capabilities." 


A    WARNIXG-AND  ITS  RESULT.  93 

Laurent  utters  a  slight  laugh.  "My  tastes!  Well, 
my  tastes  have  not  much  to  do  with  the  matter,"  he  says. 
"  They  are  all  for  easy,  luxurious  things,  and  strongly, 
most  strongly,  opposed  to  anything  in  the  form  of  work. 
And  my  capabilities  are  even  less  to  be  consulted.  They 
are  chiefly  for  spending  money — not  at  all  for  saving  or 
making  it." 

Involuntarily  Duncan  draws  his  brows  together  as  he 
glances  at  the  young  man.  The  incorrigible  lightness  of 
the  other's  tone  jars  upon  him,  such  a  nature  as  this  be- 
ing the  last  with  which  he  can  put  himself  in  sympathy. 
But  he  makes  an  effort  to  be  patient. 

"  You  have  surely,"  he  says,  "  some  idea  of  what  you 
would  like  to  do — or,  at  least,  of  what  you  can  do  !  " 

Laurent  flings  away  the  end  of  one  cigar  and  lights 
another,  as  he  answers :  "  There  are  a  number  of  things 
that  I  can  do,  but  none  of  them  very  useful  things.  I 
have  a  good  dramatic  talent  in  an  amateur  way,  but  my 
mother  was  ready  to  faint  when  I  talked  of  the  stage.  I 
might  go  on  the  turf  as  a  jockey,  but  there  is  a  vulgar 
prejudice  against  that  as  a  gentlemanly  employment.  I 
have,  also,  an  exhaustive  knowledge,  expensively  acquired, 
of  many  games  of  hazard ;  but,  while  it  is  eminently  re- 
spectable to  lose  money  on  the  green-cloth,  to  make  it 
professionally  is  not  so  respectable.  This  is  an  honest 
list  of  my  acquirements.  You  can  judge  for  yourself 
how  far  they  are  likely  to  prove  available." 

•The  look  of  disapproval  on  Duncan's  face  has  deep- 
ened as  the  other  speaks.  He  now  says,  coldly,  "  You 
have  certainly  some  other  acquirements — for  instance,  a 
good  knowledge  of  languages,  have  you  not  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  the  other  answers,  carelessly-  "  I  know 
French,  Spanish,  and  Italian,  as  well  as  English.     But 


94:  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

what,  then  ?  There  is  nothing  to  be  made  of  languages, 
imless  one  sells  one's  self  into  bondage  to  teach  them ;  and 
that  for  me  is  not  even  within  the  limit  of  possibility." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  that,"  Duncan  answers.  "  But 
a  knowledge  of  languages  is  very  useful  in  commercial 
life.  You  might  undertake  the  foreign  correspondence 
of  some  house  with  large  business  abroad." 

Laurent  shrugs  his  shoulders.  "  I  abhor  commerce  in 
all  its  branches,"  he  says. 

"  In  that  case,"  says  Duncan,  quietly,  "  I  think  that 
you  have  already  hit  upon  the  only  career  open  to  you — 
marriage  to  a  rich  woman." 

Laurent  laughs  again.  "  Tou  are  quite  right,"  he  says. 
"  But  the  rich  woman  happens  to  be  out  of  reach  at  pres- 
ent, and  may  remain  out  of  reach,  unless  I  can  prove  my 
capability  of  being  something  besides  a  lily  of  the  field  in 
uselessness.  So,  perhaps,  it  would  be  well  to  consider 
the  foreign  correspondence.  Do  you  happen  to  know 
any  one  in  need  of  such  a  correspondent? " 

"I  know  a  man  who  may  make  a  place  for  you  to 
oblige  me,"  Duncan  replies.  "  Of  course  it  will  depend 
on  yourself  whether  or  not  he  finds  you  useful  enough 
to  keep.  He  is  head  of  a  large  commercial  house,  with 
an  important  South  American  trade." 

"  "Well,"  says  Laurent,  with  the  tone  and  air  of  a  man 
about  to  swallow  a  very  bitter  dose,  "  if  he  will  have  me, 
I  am  willing  to  try  self-immolation  in  this  form — for  a 
time,  at  least." 

"  I  will  see,  then,  what  can  be  done,"  says  Duncan. 
u  And,  since  a  personal  application  is  always  best,  I  will 
go  to  see  my  friend.  I  shall  leave  to-morrow  morning, 
and  I  may  be  absent  for  some  time ;  but  I  hope  you  can 
manage  to  get  along  comfortably  here  alone." 


A    WARNING— AND  ITS  RESULT.  95 

u  There  is  no  fear  of  my  not  getting  along  most  com- 
fortably," answers  Laurent,  very  truthfully ;  "  but  I  must 
protest  against  your  taking  such  a  journey  on  my  ac- 
count— " 

"  Xot  on  your  account  alone,"  interposes  Duncan.  "  I 
have  business  of  my  own,  also,  which  may  detain  me  a 
week  or  so — I  can  not  tell.  But  I  leave  everything  here 
at  your  disposal  and  service  until  my  return.  I  suppose 
you  will  not  be  lonely  %  " 

"  Oh,  no.  I  have  an  unlimited  capacity  for  indulging 
in  dolce  far  niente.  And  then" — a  hardly  perceptible 
pause — "there  is  Verde  vale,  where  I  can  go  now  and  then 
for  a  little  societv." 

t/ 

"  Yes,"  says  Duncan  ;  but  his  tone  has  changed.  He, 
too,  pauses,  hesitates,  then  goes  on,  as  if  feeling  it  impera- 
tive to  speak :  "  But  I  hope  you  will  not  go  there  too 
often,"  he  says,  gravely.  "Remember  that  there  might 
be  danger  in  such  intercourse,  for  you — and — for  some  one 
else,  perhaps.  Don't  misunderstand  me.  -  I  have  no  rea- 
son to  doubt  that  you  are  a  man  of  honor,  but  harm  is 
sometimes  done  by  want  of  thought ;  and  no  harm  must 
be  done  in  that  house  which  I  can  prevent." 

"  I  do  not  misunderstand  you,"  says  Laurent.  "  I  ac- 
cept your  warning  in  exactly  the  spirit  in  which  you 
mean  to  convey  it,  and  I  assure  you  that  I  shall  avoid 
anything  that  may  lead  to  possible  danger.  I  hope  I  am 
a  man  of  honor — at  least  I  know  what  is  due  to  the 
woman  I  have  promised  to  marry.  If  I  fancied  that 
there  were  any  danger  for  Miss  Yardray  or  myself,  in  our 
association,  I  should  leave  here  instantly.  But " — he  agam 
shrugs  his  shoulders  lightly — "  I  am  somewhat  too  llase 
to  fall  in  love  with  a  girl's  charming  face ;  and  I  should 
insult  Miss  Yardray  if  I  supposed  myself  to  be  so  fasci- 


96  B0SLT2PS  FORTUNE. 

nating  that  my  presence  is  fraught  with  danger  to  her 
peace  of  mind.  However,"  he  pauses  for  a  moment,  then 
goes  on,  "  I  appreciate  your  feeling,  and,  if  you  think  it 
better,  I  too  will  leave  to-morrow  morning." 

"  By  no  means,"  says  Duncan.  "  I  should  prefer  that 
you  waited  here  until  my  return ;  and  I  only  intended  to 
warn  you  of  what  might  be  a  danger — or,  rather,  a  possi- 
bility of  danger.  People  often  drift  into  things  without 
considering  where  they  may  end  until  too  late." 

"  Yery  true,"  says  Laurent ;  "  but  I  promise  you  that  I 
shall  not  drift  into  anything  at  all." 

So  the  matter  ends,  and  the  next  morning  sees  Colonel 
Duncan  drive  away  from  the  door  of  Cliffton — his  desti- 
nation a  distant  city,  his  probable  length  of  absence  en- 
tirely uncertain.  In  such  a  malady  as  his,  the  impulse  of 
flight  is  always  strong ;  the  sufferer  feels  as  if  passive  en- 
durance is  more  than  can  be  borne ;  as  if  there  may  be 
relief  elsewhere,  or,  at  all  events,  as  if  motion  is  in  itself 
a  sort  of  relief. 

It  is  with  the  most  sincere  satisfaction  that  Laurent 
bids  his  host  adieu,  and  watches  him  borne  rapidly  away. 
"Poor  fellow!"  he  thinks.  "He  has  certainly  had  a 
c  facer.'     But  how  fortunately  it  chances  for  me !  " 

To  fully  explain  this  good  fortune,  it  may  be  stated 
that  Mr.  Laurent  has  become  interested  in  Roslyn  beyond 
the  point  necessary  for  strategic  success.  Not  that  he  has 
in  the  least  fallen  in  love — for  that  is  something  of  which, 
he  is  absolutely  incapable — but,  like  many  men  of  bound- 
less egotism  and  small  passion,  he  has  a  facile  fancy  which 
is  easily  taken  captive  by  a  new  charm,  easily  stimulated 
by  resistance,  and  utterly  ended  by  possession.  This 
temporary  interest  being  genuine,  gives  a  character  of 
earnestness  to  his  flirtations,  which  is  the  chief  secret  of 


A  WARNING— AND  ITS  RESULT.  07 

their  success.  He  not  only  seems  to  be,  but  is,  thoroughly 
taken  captive  for  the  time  being ;  and  real  ardor,  like  real 
everything  else,  has  a  power  which  the  counterfeit  can 
never  possess.  Interest,  especially  in  love-affairs,  can 
never  be  very  well  simulated  ;  and  if  it  ever  successfully 
imposes  upon  its  victim,  it  is  because  that  victim  is,  for 
the  moment,  incapable  of  an  act  of  judgment.  Now, 
Laurent,  being  well  assured  that  Roslyn  has  refused  his 
cousin,  might  readily  feel  that  his  self-appointed  task  as  a 
strategist  is  unnecessary ;  but,  in  truth,  the  girl  herself 
has  awakened  his  admiration  and  excited  his  vanity  to  a 
degree  which  makes  him  eager  to  pursue  the  affair  for  his 
own  gratification  and  amusement.  He  feels  that  his  fas- 
cination has  been,  in  a  manner,  defied,  and  this  conscious- 
ness acts  upon  him  as  a  challenge.  He  mast  see  those 
frank  and  fearless  eyes  fall  before  his,  the  lovely  color 
deepen  as  it  has  never  deepened  yet  at  his  coming,  or  his 
voice.  For  him,  a  veteran  in  flirtation,  to  be  baffled  by 
a  girl  as  narrow  in  experience  as  she  is  young  in  years,  is, 
he  feels,  altogether  unendurable.  The  longing  to  win 
her  favor,  the  desire  to  draw  from  her  some  sign  that  she 
reciprocates  the  feeling  so  strong  in  himself,  is  almost  as 
intense  with  him  as  with  a  real  lover ;  only  there  is  the 
great  and  essential  difference,  not  only  that  his  motive  is 
altogether  selfish,  but  that  the  desire,  once  gratified,  will 
prove  as  short-lived  as  it  is  now  keen. 

Under  these  circumstances,  he  naturally  does  not  long 
delay  presenting  himself  at  Yerdevale.  Before  half  the 
morning  has  elapsed,  he  is  sitting  with  the  family  group 
on  the  broad,  vine-shaded  veranda,  and  has  told  the  news 
of  Colonel  Duncan's  departure.  If  he  had  doubted  what 
share  Roslyn  had  in  this,  the  expression  of  her  face,  as  he 

speaks,  would  assure  him  of  it.     She  starts,  her  color 
5 


98  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

changes,  and  she  looks  downward,  uttering  not  a  word, 
while  the  rest  express  their  surprise. 

"  "Why,  you  are  left  quite  alone  at  Cliffton,  then,  Mr. 
Laurent,"  says  Mrs.  Yardray.  "Will  you  not  be  very 
lonely  ? " 

"  I  shall  be  alone,  but  not  lonely,"  answers  Laurent, 
with  a  smile.  "  I  can  not  affirm  that  I  am  one  of  those 
people  that  make  it  their  proud  boast  that  they  'are 
never  less  alone  than  when  alone ' ;  but  I  have  some 
resources  within  myself,  and  I  do  not  object  to  a  lit- 
tle solitude  now  and  then ;  it  gives  one  time  for  reflec- 
tion, which  the  rush  and  whirl  of  one's  ordinary  life  do 
not." 

"  Yet  I  should  think  you  were  much  more  at  home  in 
the  rush  and  whirl,"  says  Mrs.  Yardray,  who  is  distrust- 
ful of  this  fancy  for  solitude,  and  inclined  to  the  opinion 
that  Colonel  Duncan  should  have  taken  his  guest  with 
him. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  meaning  of  that  is  not  very  compli- 
mentary to  me,"  replies  the  young  man ;  "  but  I  am 
bound  to  confess  that  in  a  general  sense  you  are  right.  I 
must  also  confess  that  I  should  doubtless  look  upon  soli- 
tude at  Cliffton  in  a  very  different  light  if  I  had  not  so- 
ciety at  Yerdevale  to  cheer  me." 

This  is  well  brought  in,  and  obliges  Mrs.  Yardray  to 
make  a  becoming  rejoinder,  in  the  form  of  a  hope  that 
he  will  not  hesitate  to  cheer  himself  with  the  society  of 
Yerdevale.  "  But  we  must  not  monopolize  you,"  she  goes 
on.  "  There  are  some  pleasant  families  in  the  neighbor- 
hood whom  you  might  like  to  know." 

Anxious  not  to  excite  distrust,  Laurent  does  not  avow 
his  decided  disinclination  to  meet  any  of  these  pleasant 
families,  but  replies  in  general  terms,  and  waives  the  sub- 


A    WARNING— AND  ITS  RESULT.  99 

ject,  being  quite  determined  that  he  will  suffer  no  diver- 
sion of  the  kind. 

The  morning  passes  in  pleasant  idleness ;  but,  although 
Mrs.  Vardray  acknowledges  the  charm  of  the  intruder, 
this  charm  only  steels  her  purpose  the  more  against  ad- 
mitting him  to  any  greater  familiarity  than  can  possibly 
be  avoided. 

"  He  must  go  home ;  I  shall  not  make  a  precedent  by 
asking  him  to  stay  to  dinner,"  she  says  resolutely  to  her- 
self ;  and  in  order  to  avoid  the  awkwardness  of  disregard- 
ing what  seems  almost  an  obligation  of  hospitality,  she 
leaves  the  veranda  about  the  time  when  she  knows  that 
Laurent  must  order  his  horse.  But,  alas !  "  the  best-laid 
plans  gang  aft  aglee,"  and  it  chances  that  Mr.  Vardray 
steps  accidentally  upon  the  scene  just  as  the  young  man 
has  reluctantly  issued  the  order. 

"  What,  Mr.  Laurent,"  says  that  hospitable  gentleman, 
without  an  instant's  consideration,  "going  to  ride  home 
at  this  hour  of  the  day  ?  Tut,  tut !  you'll  have  a  sun- 
stroke !  Take  dinner  with  us,  and  go  home  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening ;  that  is  the  proper  thing  to  do.  Since 
you  are  alone  at  Cliffton,  we  need  have  no  compunction 
about  keeping  you." 

"It  is  I  who  should  have  the  compunction,  I  am 
afraid,"  says  Laurent.  "  You  are  very  kind,  but  really  to 
trespass  upon  your  hospitality  so  much — " 

"  Nonsense  ! "  interrupts  Mr.  Vardray.  "  We  are  al- 
ways glad  to  see  our  friends ;  and  I  feel  that  we  ought  to 
take  particular  charge  of  you,  since  Duncan  has  gone  off 
and  left  you  in  this  shabby  way. — Never  mind  about  the 
horse,  Jim  ;  the  gentleman  is  going  to  stay." 

Laurent  does  not  gainsay  this,  for  in  fact  lie  would  be 
very  much  disappointed  if  forced  to  go.     He  has  not  seen 


100  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

Roslyn  alone  at  all,  this  morning,  and.  lie  wants  to  see  her 
alone,  for  several  reasons,  which  may  be  briefly  summa- 
rized :  first,  to  gratify  himself ;  secondly,  to  carry  his  wary 
siege  of  sentiment  a  little  further ;  and,  thirdly,  in  order 
to  discover  the  meaning  of  a  change  in  her  which  is  very 
perceptible.  She  has  been  remarkably  quiet  all  the  morn- 
ing, and  there  is  an  air  of  effort  about  her  which  strikes 
and  puzzles  him.  The  true  solution  does  not  occur  to 
him — that  she  is  thinking  of  Duncan,  with  a  sorrowful 
and  impersonal  realization  of  the  pain  she  has  inflicted 
upon  him ;  but  he  does  think  that  she  may  be  regretting 
her  answer,  perhaps,  in  which  case  it  is,  from  all  points 
of  view,  essential  that  he  should  efface  this  regret  with 
stronger  feelings  as  soon  as  possible. 

When  Mr.  Yardray  has  countermanded  the  order  for 
his  horse,  he  turns,  therefore,  to  Roslyn,  and  says : 

"If  I  stay,  may  I  not  beg  for  the  pleasure  of  a  ride 
with  you  this  afternoon  ?  Pray,  say  yes  " — as  she  hesi- 
tates ;  "  you  don't  know  how  much  I  have  built  upon  the 
hope  of  it." 

"  You  must  have  built  very  quickly,  then,"  she  says, 
with  a  flash  of  her  accustomed  brightness  as  she  looks  at 
him,  "if  the  idea  has  only  occurred  to  you  since  papa 
begged  you  to  stay." 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  this  special  idea,  but  of  the 
general  hope  of  riding  with  you,"  he  replies.  "  If  you 
remember,  I  proposed  that  instead  of  our  excursion  yes- 
terday." 

"Don't  speak  of  our  excursion  yesterday,"  she  says, 
with  a  little  shudder.  "  It  was  a  failure  from  beginning 
to  end." 

"  It  was  not  all  a  failure  to  me,"  he  says.  "  That  time 
on  the  rock,  for  instance — " 


GEOFFREY  FORMS  A   RESOLUTION.  101 

He  breaks  off  abruptly,  but  his  well-trained  eyes  say 
much,  and  Roslyn  meets  them.  But  now,  as  before,  he 
is  uncertain  what  effect  the  eloquent  glances  have  upon 
her.     She  only  smiles  with  a  gay  maliciousness. 

"  The  time  on  the  rock  would  be  still  more  memo- 
rable if  you  had  fallen  into  the  river,  as  I  fancied  you 
would,"  she  says.  "  A  day  at  the  falls  seems  incomplete 
without  anybody  having  been  wet." 

"  And  you  are  absolutely  sorry  that  I  was  not  covered 
with  absurdity  as  with  a  garment ! '  he  says,  reproach- 
fully. "  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  such  vindictive- 
ness  I  But  I  will  forgive  you  all  evil  hopes  and  intentions 
if  you  will  go  to  ride  this  afternoon." 

"  I  usually  ride  with  Geoffrey,"  she  answers ;  "  but  for 
once — yes,  I  will  go  with  you." 


CHAPTER  X. 

GEOFFREY  FORMS  A  RESOLUTION/ 

Three  weeks  have  passed  since  Colonel  Duncan  left 
Cliff  ton,  when  Geoffrey  goes  up  to  Roslyn  one  morning 
as  she  stands  on  the  veranda,  and  says,  abruptly : 

"  Will  you  take  a  walk  with  me  ?  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you." 

She  looks  at  him  with  a  little  surprise,  not  so  much  on 
account  of  his  hrusqucric,  for  that  of  late  has  become  a 
marked  characteristic  of  manner  with  poor  Geoffrey,  as 
on  account  of  the  formality  of  the  recpiest ;  but  she  an- 
swers quickly,  with  the  air  of  one  anxious  to  conciliate : 


102  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Of  course ;  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  take  a  walk,  if 
you  will  bring  me  my  hat  and  gloves." 

He  goes  into  the  hall,  finds  the  hat  and  gloves,  and 
returns  with  them.  She  ties  on  the  first,  draws  on  the 
second,  and  then,  looking  at  him  with  a  smile,  says :  "  I 
am  ready ;  where  shall  we  go  ? " 

"  Oh,  anywhere,"  he  answers.  "  It  makes  no  differ- 
ence to  me ;  but  we  had  better  go  into  the  woods,  I  sup- 
pose ;  there  we  may  be  free  from  interruption." 

She  understands  exactly  to  what  special  interruption 
his  sarcastic  emphasis  refers,  but  she  answers  : 

"  By  all  means,  let  us  go  into  the  woods ;  I  always  en- 
joy a  walk  there." 

So  they  set  forth — more  like  a  pair  of  new  acquaint- 
ances than  like  two  people  who  have  grown  up  from 
childhood  together — take  their  way  through  the  garden, 
and,  passing  out  of  the  gate,  soon  find  themselves  in  the 
wood  beyond.  Avoiding  the  path  which  leads  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Stanley  place,  they  follow  another  that 
takes  them  deep  into  the  heart  of  the  green  shades,  and 
finally  brings  them  to  the  bank  of  a  limpid  stream,  that 
runs  gayly  over  its  stones  "  in  little  sharps  and  trebles." 

"  This  is  where  we  used  to  come  to  fish,"  says  Geof- 
frey, flinging  himself  down  on  the  mossy  bank.  "  Many  a 
minnow  have  I  caught  here — and  so  have  you,  Roslyn. 
You  were  very  fond  of  fishing  in  those  days." 

"  I  wanted  to  do  everything  that  you  did,"  says  Eos- 
lyn.  "  I  wonder  I  did  not  kill  myself  in  trying  to  keep 
pace  with  you  in  all  possible  sports.  My  great  grief  was 
that  I  could  not  use  a  gun ;  but  after  I  nearly  shot  you, 
papa  forbade  it,  you  know." 

"Did  you  nearly  shoot  me  ? "  says  Geoffrey,  looking 
up  at  her  as  she  stands  over  him,  in  the  nickering  light 


GEOFFREY  FORMS  A  RESOLUTION'.  103 

and  shade,  a  sight  "  to  make  an  old  man  young,"  in  the 
grace  and  sweetness  of  her  youth.  "  By  Heaven,  I  wish 
you  had  succeeded  ! " 

If  spoken  lightly,  the  words  would  mean  nothing,  but 
there  is  a  passionate  earnestness  in  the  young  man's  voice 
and  eyes  that  startles  Iloslyn. 

"  Why  do  you  talk  so  ? "  she  says,  in  a  reproving  tone. 
"  It  is  very  wrong — very  foolish." 

"  It  may  be  foolish  ;  but  it  is  not  wrong,"  he  answers. 
"  At  least  it  is  not  untrue.  Don't  you  know  that  I  would 
rather  have  died,  than  have  lived  to  suffer  what  I  do 
now  ? " 

"  Are  you  suffering  ? "  she  says,  gently,  sitting  down 
by  him.     "  I  am  very  sorry." 

"  Yes,  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  sorry  ;  I  have  no  doubt 
you  would  be  still  more  sorry,  if  you  could  know  all  that 
I  suffer,"  he  replies ;  "  but  you  are  not  sorry  enough  to 
help  me,  Roslyn." 

"  How  can  I  ? "  she  asks,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You  know,"  he  answers,  not  looking  at  her,  but  at 
the  sunlight  flickering  down  through  the  green  boughs 
overhead  to  the  flashing  water.  "  You  know  what  I  feel 
for  you — that  is,  you  know  something  of  it ;  and  you  may 
judge,  therefore,  what  it  costs  me  to  see  you  drawing 
farther  and  farther  away  from  me  every  day." 

"  But  I  am  not  drawing  away,"  she  says,  eagerly. 
"  Why  do  you  fancy  such  things  ?  You  are  just  what 
you  always  were  to  me,  Geoffrey — just  what  you  always 
were ! " 

"  Am  I  ? "  he  says,  still  not  looking  at  her.  "  Well,  I 
suppose  I  ought  to  be  content  with  that — but  I  am  not. 
I  wanted  to  be  more  to  vou,  and  I  see  that  I  can  not  be. 
There  is  the  trouble,  and  you  can't  help  it — not  unless 


104  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

you  tell  me  that  some  day  you  will  love  me  well  enough 
to  marry  me." 

Silence — a  troubled  silence  on  Hoslyn's  part,  in  which 
she  dimly  hears  the  gurgle  of  the  brook  over  its  stones, 
and  the  rustle  of  the  leaves  above  her  head.  This  is  no 
new  revelation  to  her  of  Geoffrey's  feeling ;  but  now,  as 
ever,  it  troubles  her — coming  as  an  element  of  discord 
into  her  life,  marring  the  serenity  of  her  attachment  to 
him  by  demanding  something  which  she  can  not  give.  It 
is  in  the  nature  and  necessity  of  love  to  do  this — to  cast 
awav  that  which  it  has  as  valueless,  because  it  can  not  have 
more.  Friendship  and  affection  are  scorned  by  the  im- 
perious tyrant — "  all  or  nothing,"  is  his  demand,  and  he 
flings  aside  much  that  might  sweeten  life,  as  failing  to 
satisfy  the  cry  of  his  hot  heart.  So  it  is  now  with  poor 
Geoffrey.  What  is  Roslyn's  affection  to  him,  when  the 
love  of  which  she  is  capable  is  reserved  for  some  other 
man  1  "I  want  her  heart,  her  whole  heart !  "  is  what  he 
says  to  himself ;  and,  while  he  says  it,  he  feels  that  it  is 
not  for  him  to  win  that  heart. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  answer  you,"  she  says  at  last, 
slowly.  "  It  seems  to  me  strange  that  you  should  think 
of  such  a  thing.  "We  have  always  been  like  brother  and 
sister,  and  I — I  can  not  have  any  other  thought.  If  you 
would  put  away  such  ideas,  Geoffrey,  we  should  be  a 
great  deal  happier." 

"  You  might  as  well  tell  me  to  put  away  part  of  my- 
self," says  Geoffrey.  "  It  has  grown  with  my  growth, 
and  strengthened  with  my  strength.  I  have  never  had 
any  other  idea,  Roslyn,  as  far  as  you  are  concerned.  But 
I  did  not  bring  you  out  to  tell  you  this,"  he  goes  on,  ab- 
ruptly, "  for  I  think  you  know  it  as  well  as  I  do ;  I  only 
wanted  to  tell  you  that  I  am  going  away." 


GEOFFREY  FORMS  A  RESOLUTION.  105 

"  Going  away  !  "  repeats  the  girl.  A  sense  of  dismay 
comes  over  lier — what  malign  fate  is  this  which  seems  to 
force  her  to  estrange  and  send  away  her  friends  ?  The 
tears  rise  into  her  eyes. 

"O  Geoffrey,  don't — pray  don't  go!"  she  says. 
"  What  harm  have  I  done  to  you  ?  Why  should  you 
leave  home  because  I  can  not  feel  toward  you  exactly  as 
you  desire  ? " 

"  That  is  not  why  I  am  going,"  answers  Geoffrey. 
"  If  it  wrere  simply  that,  I  would  wait  and  hope ;  but  I 
can  not  stay  and  see  another  man  win  you  before  my 
eyes ;  and  that  is  what  is  coming  to  pass,  Roslyn." 

She  answers  not  a  word.  Her  eyes  fall  before  the 
searching  gaze  of  his,  and  she  begins  nervously  to  pull  to 
pieces  a  daisy  that  she  has  gathered.  She  would  reassure 
him  if  she  could  ;  but  can  she? 

Seeing  his  fears  confirmed  by  the  expression  of  her 
face,  and  by  this  significant  silence,  the  young  man  strug- 
gles for  an  instant  with  the  sharpness  of  his  pain — for 
how  deceitful  in  hope  the  heart  is  we  never  know,  until 
some  such  moment  of  keen,  realizing  certainty  comes — 
and  then,  having  mastered  it  by  an  heroic  effort,  goes  on : 

"  It  is  hard  for  me  to  see  this ;  harder  than  you  can 
even  imagine,"  he  says.  "  But  will  you  believe  me  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  almost  forget  myself  in  thinking  of  you  ? 
I  am  certain — more  certain  than  I  can  express — that  you 
are  making  a  great  and  terrible  mistake  in  giving  your 
heart  to  this  man  ;  and  I  would  be  willing  to  suffer  all 
that  I  do,  and  more  besides,  if  I  could  only  warn  you  to 
some  purpose." 

His  earnestness  is  pathetic  in  its  sincerity ;  and  if  he 
feared  to  speak,  he  sees  when  Roslyn  lifts  her  eyes  that 
there  was  no  need  of  fear. 


IOC  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  I  have  not  given  my  heart  to  him,  Geoffrey ;  at 
least,  I  don't  think  so ! "  she  says,  almost  in  a  whisper. 
"  But  tell  me — I  want  to  be  reasonable — why  do  you  think 
it  would  be  i  a  great  and  terrible  mistake '  if  I  did  so  \ " 

"  Because  I  do  not  trust  him  !  "  says  the  young  man, 
energetically.  "  You  will  think  that  is  no  reason,  per- 
haps ;  but,  if  one's  distrust  has  good  ground,  it  is  not  to 
be  despised ;  and  it  is  not  jealousy  that  makes  me  distrust 
him.  There  is  Colonel  Duncan ;  it  would  cut  me  to  the 
heart  to  see  you  marry  him  ;  but  I  should  know  that  you 
had  given  your  heart  and  your  life  to  one  who  is  incapa- 
ble of  betraying  any  trust  placed  in  him  ;  and,  therefore, 
I  should  not  be  without  comfort.  But  what  should  I 
feel  if  I  saw  you  give  yourself  to  this  other  man  ?  He  is 
careless ;  he  is  selfish  ;  by  his  own  confession  he  has  idled 
away  his  life,  and  sought  nothing  but  the  gratification  of 
his  own  pleasure  ;  if  he  has  a  high  thought,  or  a  high  aim, 
I  have  never  heard  him  utter  the  one,  and  he  has  certainly 
lost  sight  of  the  other." 

"  You  are  very  severe,"  says  Boslyn,  flushing  deeply. 
u  I  thought  something  like  this  of  him  at  first ;  but  a  man 
may  drift  into  modes  of  life  which  he  would  not  deliber- 
ately adopt.  He  has  had  everything  to  tempt  him  to  idle- 
ness and  pleasure;  but,  now  that  he  is  old  enough  to 
think  seriously,  he  says  he  feels  the  need  of  higher  aims 
and  more  definite  objects." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  he  tells  you  so,"  says  Geoffrey,  "  for, 
young  as  he  is,  he  knows  that  no  plea  is  so  effective  with 
a  woman  as  that  which  says,  '  Help  me  to  mount  to  higher 
things.'  Well,"  he  goes  on,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  I 
have  said  my  say,  and  I  am  glad  it  has  not  made  you  an- 
gry. Give  it  a  little  thought,  won't  you,  Roslyn  ?  In- 
deed, I  speak  as  if — as  if  I  were  your  brother." 


GEOFFREY  FORMS  A  RESOLUTION.  107 

He  looks  pleadingly  at  the  girl,  who  returns  his  gaze 
with  an  expression  which  perplexes  him — the  expression 
of  one  who  is  awakening  to  the  consciousness  of  new  per- 
ceptions. 

"Yes,  I  will  think  of  what  you  have  said,"  she  an- 
swers, "  but  I  wish  that  I  could  hear  no  more  of  the  sub- 
ject— I  mean  from  anybody.  I  thought  love  sweetened 
and  broadened  life ;  but,  instead,  it  seems  to  fill  it  with 
bitterness,  to  make  one  hurt  one's  friends,  and  take  them 
away  from  one.  But  you  won't  go  away,  Geoffrey,  surely 
you  won't  go  away  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  stay,"  says  Geoffrey, 
gloomily.  "  I  am  sure  I  am  not  agreeable  company  to 
anybody ;  while,  if  I  go  to  poor  old  Uncle  James — I  had  a 
letter  from  him  this  morning,  begging  me  to  come — he 
won't  care  how  miserable  I  am." 

"  But  /care,"  says  Roslyn,  who  feels  as  if  this  is  more 
than  she  can  bear.  "  Geoffrey,  it  is  not  just — it  is  not 
right,"  she  cries,  passionately.  "  You  should  not  make 
me  feel  as  if  I  had  willfully  made  you  wretched.  How 
could  I  help  it  \ " 

"  Of  course  you  could  not  help  it,"  replies  Geoffrey, 
whose  chivalry  is  stirred  by  this  appeal.  "  I  am  a  brute 
and  a  fool  to  have  said  anything  about  it — but  don't  fret ! 
If  you  want  me  to  stay,  I'll  stay.  No  doubt  I  should  be 
more  miserable  away  from  you  than  with  you ;  so  I  won't 
go — now." 


108  ROSLYN' S  FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"honor  before  all  things." 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  Roslyn  ends  her 
siesta  somewhat  earlier  than  usual,  and  comes  down-stairs 
equipped  for  walking.  From  the  lightness  of  her  step  in 
passing  through  the  house,  it  is  evident  that  she  does  not 
wish  to  attract  attention ;  and  Geoffrey,  who  is  stretched 
at  ease  on  a  sofa  in  the  sitting-room,  does  not  stir  as  he 
sees  her  pass  swiftly  and  almost  noiselessly  through  the 
hall.  "  She  is  going  out,"  he  says,  to  himself,  "  and  she 
does  not  want  a  companion.  She  must  expect  to  meet 
Laurent." 

Jealousy  and  injustice  generally  go  hand  in  hand,  and 
so  they  do  in  this  instance  ;  the  truth  being  that  Roslyn, 
as  she  lies  awake  during  the  long  hot  hours  of  the  after- 
noon, pondering  the  perplexities  of  her  situation,  has  de- 
cided that  she  will  take  counsel  with  Lettice,  who  she 
knows  possesses  a  remarkably  clear  power  of  judgment. 
"  It  will  be  a  comfort  to  speak  to  somebody,"  she  thinks 
— and,  so  thinking,  determines  to  walk  over  to  the  Stanley 
place,  since  Lettice  is  detained  at  home  by  the  illness  of 
some  members  of  the  familv. 

Outside  the  house  the  heat  is  not  so  great  as  within, 
for  there  is  a  light,  fresh  breeze  stirring,  and  the  sun  in 
declining  westward  has  lost  the  fierceness  of  his  power. 
Long  shadows  are  stretching  over  the  greensward,  while 
floods  of  level  light  stream  between  the  trunks  of  the 
trees,  and  light  up  all  the  sylvan  picture  with  glory. 

Roslyn,  who  is  quick  to  feel  the  beauty  and  sweetness 


"HOXOIi  BEFORE  ALL   THINGS:'  109 

of  nature,  is  walking  along  the  woodland  way,  swinging 
her  parasol  in  one  hand,  while  her  eyes  roving  to  right 
and  left  take  in  all  the  loveliness  of  the  scene,  when  sud- 
denly a  turn  of  the  path  brings  her  face  to  face  with  Lau- 
rent. 

She  is  so  much  astonished  that  for  an  instant  she  can 
not  speak,  and  it  is  he,  who,  lifting  his  hat  with  a  smile, 
says: 

"  What  a  wonderful  thing  the  power  of  divination  is ! 
I  felt  sure  that  I  should  meet  you,  and  here  you  are,  all 
alone,  like  a  fairy  princess." 

"I  am  on  my  way  to  see  Lettice,"  she  replies,  "so  it 
is  very  natural  that  1  should  be  here ;  but  I  am  surprised 
to  see  youP 

"  The  explanation  of  my  appearance  is  very  simple,'' 
he  says.  "  I  was  paying  a  visit  to  Mr.  Stanley,  and  being 
tempted  to  go  to  Yerdevale  by  this  path — for  I  felt  an 
instinct  approaching  to  a  certainty  that  I  should  meet  you 
— I  asked  him  to  send  my  horse  over  later  by  a  servant. 
Now,  may  I  ask  if  your  intention  of  going  to  see  Miss 
Stanley  is  fixed  as  fate,  or  may  I  not  propose  a  diver- 
sion ? " 

"  My  intention  is  by  no  means  so  fixed  that  it  does 
not  admit  of  a  diversion,"  says  Hoslyn,  smiling ;  "  but,  be- 
fore I  speak  positively,  I  must  know  what  you  propose." 

"  I  propose  that  we  shall  take  a  walk  through  these 
beautiful  woods,  and  find,  perhaps,  some  spot  as  lovely 
and  lonely  as  the  glen  where  you  led  me  one  morning — 
do  you  remember  \ — where  we  can  rest  and  talk." 

"  I  can  lead  you  to  that  same  glen,  if  you  like,"  she 
says.     "  It  is  a  favorite  haunt  of  mine,  but — " 

She  stops,  remembering  that  it  was  in  the  very  place 
of  which   he   spoke  that  Geoffrey  gave  his  warning  so 


110  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

short  a  time  ago ;  and,  fraught  as  it  is  with  that  associa- 
tion, she  hardly  feels  like  going  to  it  now. 

"  But  what  ? '  he  asks,  as  she  pauses.  "  Surely  you 
don't  mean  that  there  is  any  reason  why  you  can  not  go  ? 
Is  there  any  important  matter  demanding  that  you  shall 
see  Miss  Stanley  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,  not  any  at  all,"  she  answers.  "  I  was  only 
thinking  that  novelty  is  a  desirable  thing  sometimes,  and 
that  I  can  take  you  to  many  other  places  quite  as  lovely 
as  that." 

"  Novelty  is  not  always  desirable,"  he  says.  "  When 
certain  places  are  associated  with  pleasant  memories,  one 
prefers  to  return  to  those  places  in  preference  to  the  love- 
liest that  have  no  such  associations.  But  what  made  the 
charm  in  this  place  can  make  it  in  another ;  so  lead  me 
where  you  like." 

"  Let  us  see  what  we  can  find,  then,"  she  says,  turning 
into  the  woods. 

What  they  have  found,  half  an  hour  later,  is  a  cool, 
green  nook,  all  in  shade,  save  that  its  tree-tops  are  gilded 
still  with  the  declining  rays  of  the  sun.  An  abrupt  hill- 
side covered  with  a  wealth  of  tangled  greenness  rises  over 
it,  and  at  the  base  of  this  flows  the  same,  bright,  capricious 
stream  which  runs  through  the  glen  Roslyn  has  avoided. 
It  is  likely  that  she  has  forgotten  all  her  reasons  for  avoid- 
ing it,  and  that  the  stream  brings  no  reminder  to  her 
thoughts,  for  Geoffrey  would  certainly  groan  in  spirit 
could  he  see  how  interested  she  is  in  the  talk  of  her  com- 
panion. 

That  the  latter  knows  so  well  how  to  command  this 
interest  is  no  small  part  of  his  attraction,  and  yet,  as  Ros- 
lyn has  sometimes  felt,  if  she  were  called  upon  to  state 
clearly  in  what  the  charm  of  his  conversation  consists,  she 


"HOXOR  BEFORE  ALL    TUiyGS."  HI 

would  be  unable  to  recall  anything  that  could  be  expressed 
in  words.  It  is,  indeed,  a  charm  of  manner  more  than  of 
words,  and  it  is  also  largely  owing  to  the  infusion  of  a 
personal  element.  Unconsciously,  as  it  appears,  but  in 
reality  very  consciously,  Laurent's  talk  falls  into  the  chan- 
nel of  discussing  his  own  or  his  companion's  life  and 
character,  tastes,  and  opinions.  "When  we  are  talking  of 
ourselves,  we  do  not  weary  ;  and  if  we  feel  anything  like 
a  keen  interest  in  another,  we  do  not  often  weary  while 
he  talks  of  himself.  Lovers,  whether  acknowledged  or 
unacknowledged,  are  tireless  in  egotism,  for  the  exchange 
of  confidences  on  all  these  points  of  personality  is  only  an 
exchange  of  egotism. 

The  conversation  on  this  occasion,  however,  is  drifting 
into  deeper  meaning  than  usual,  for  Laurent,  as  he  lies 
back  on  the  grass  and  looks  up  at  the  sun-reddened  tree- 
tops  and  the  blue  sky  beyond,  says,  meditatively  : 

"  ^That  a  perfect  existence  this  is !  What  an  ideal 
life — a  dream  of  summer  days,  and  happiness,  and  peace ! 
If  only  life,  the  whole  life,  might  be  like  it,  what  could 
one  ask  better  ? " 

"  One  would  not  ask  anything  very  extravagant,  then," 
says  Eoslyn,  who  is  sitting  on  the  root  of  a  large  tree. 
"  Of  course,  it  can  not  be  always  summer,  but  life  in  the 
country  flows  in  the  even  current  that  you  see,  very  much 
the  same  at  all  seasons.  Frankly,  I  think  you  would  grow 
very  tired  of  it  after  a  while,"  she  adds,  with  a  laugh. 

"  You  say  that  because  you  don't  know,  or  you  don't 
care  to  acknowledge,  what  makes  the  charm  for  me,"  he 
answers,  quickly,  with  an  irritation  in  the  words  like  the 
irritation  of  pain.  Nor  is  this  feigned.  Those  who  play 
with  edged  tools  are  likely  to  be  wounded ;  and,  to  Lau- 
rent's great  surprise,  he  has  found  of  late    that  he  is 


112  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

wounded  very  deeply  indeed.  He  meant  to  trifle,  and 
trifling  has  grown  into  earnest  before  lie  knows  where  he 
stands.  Whether  it  be  impulse,  fancy,  madness,  or  what, 
he  feels  at  the  present  moment  that  he  would  give  any- 
thing of  which  his  life  holds  the  possession  or  the  prom- 
ise, to  be  free  to  make  the  girl  who  sits  before  him 
entirely  his  own.  But  he  is  not  blind  to  the  real  and 
tangible  obstacles  to  such  a  step.  He  is  an  engaged  man, 
a  man  overwhelmed  with  debt,  and  a  man  who  must  "  do 
the  best  for  himself,"  let  the  consequences  be  what  they 
may.  But  he  is  also  a  man  who  is  accustomed  to  follow- 
ing the  fancy  of  the  moment,  whenever  it  does  not  inter- 
fere with  the  more  serious  matters  of  life,  and  he  has 
grown  day  by  day  more  recklessly  anxious  to  win  from 
Roslyn  a  confession  of  love,  at  least. 

"  Whatever  makes  the  charm  for  vou  "  she  answers,  a 
little  surprised  by  his  manner,  "  there  is  no  harm  in  say- 
ing that  you  might  grow  tired  of  such  a  mode  of  life.  I 
can  tell  you,  by  experience,  that  it  is  quite  possible  to 
grow  tired  of  it.  And  if  /  feel  this,  what  would  you 
feel,  whose  existence  has  been  so  different  ? " 

«  Yery  different,  indeed,"  he  says  ;  "  but  it  is  the  fact 
of  this  difference  which  makes  me  appreciate  what  I  have 
found  here.  I  have  told  you  before  this  how  I  have 
squandered  my  fortune  and  thrown  away  my  chances  in 
life,  been  an  idler,  a  good-for-naught,  a  spendthrift  in 
every  way ;  but  I  have  not  told  you  yet  what  is  the  heav- 
iest fetter  upon  me,  what  I  feel  most  bitterly  now."  . 

"  No,"  she  answers,  looking  at  him  with  something  of 
curiosity,  but  more  of  apprehension,  for  she  is  instinct- 
ively aware  that  some  blow  which  may  strike  her  very 
hard  is  about  to  fall — "  you  have  not  told  me.  If  it  is 
anything  you  dislike  to  dwell  upon,  don't  tell  me." 


"HOXOR  BEFORE  ALL    TIIIXGS."  113 

u  I  must  tell  you,"  lie  says,  in  a  voice  that  seems  hoarse 
with  resolution.  In  truth  it  has  occurred  to  him  as  a  sud- 
den inspiration  that  perhaps  by  means  of  the  truth  he 
may  most  readily  and  with  least  responsibility  arrive  at 
the  full  knowledge  which  he  desires,  and  which  it  is  now 
an  imperative  necessity  with  him  to  gain.  "  I  ought  to 
have  told  you  long  ago,"  he  says,  "  but  I  have  been  living 
in  a  paradise  of  dreams,  and  I  put  away  all  disturbing 
recollections,  thinking  that  forgetfulness  for  a  little  while 
could  do  no  harm.  But  it  has  done  harm,  for  awaking 
must  come  at  last  to  all  dreaming ;  and  to  me  it  has  come 
in  the  bitter  realization  that  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart 
— and  that  I  am  engaged  to  marry  another  woman!" 

Silence — a  silence  which  may  be  felt.  The  world 
seems  going  round  with  Roslyn,  and  there  is  the  sound  as 
of  many  waters  in  her  ears.  The  shock  is  so  great  that 
for  a  minute  she  is  stunned,  and  she  feels  with  a  dull 
sense  of  consternation  that  she  lias  absolutely  no  control 
of  her  countenance  or  her  voice.  She  is  incapable  of 
uttering  a  word,  and  after  a  moment  he  goes  on : 

"  Do  you  know  what  this  means  for  me  ?  It  was  a 
family  contract  made  with  my  cousin,  a  mere  arrange- 
ment de  convenance  /  but  my  honor  is  bound,  and  I,  who 
carelessly  entered  into  the  bondage,  feel  now  that  I  have 
sold  every  possibility  of  happiness  in  life.  Roslyn" — 
he  draws  nearer,  and  takes  her  hand  before  she  can 
prevent — "  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  love  you,  you  only,  you 
alone ! " 

Then  Roslyn  forces  her  stiff,  dry  lips  to  speak,  and 
says,  with  a  composure  that  surprises  herself : 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  only  one  thing  for  you 
to  do.  If  your  honor  is  bound,  you  must  fulfill  your  en- 
gagement.    As  for  what  you  feel  for  me  " — drawing  her 


114  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

hand  from  his  clasp — "  that,  fortunately,  is  a  matter  of  no 
importance." 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "  says  Laurent,  stung  more  deeply  than  he 
would  have  believed  possible.  "If  you  mean  to  you, 
that  may  be  true ;  but  to  me  it  is  a  matter  of  supreme 
importance.  I  feel  as  if  nothing  else  in  the  world  were 
of  importance,  compared  to  it;  and  I  hoped  —  I  be- 
lieved— " 

He  stops  short,  seeing  that  he  has  gone  too  far ;  for 
now,  like  a  flash,  pride  and  anger  come  to  Roslyn's  aid. 
She  turns  her  eyes  on  him,  and  he  sees  in  their  expanding 
glow  that  he  has  failed  in  what  he  wanted  to  draw  from 
her.  Many  women,  as  he  is  well  aware,  would  have  cried 
out  anguish-stricken,  "  I,  too,  love — is  there  no  hope  for 
us?"  But  this  girl  is  not  made  of  such  stuff.  Were 
what  she  suffers  tenfold  greater,  she  has  the  courage  and 
strength  to  say : 

"  You  hoped  and  believed  that  it  would  be  of  su- 
preme importance  to  me,  also?  I  am  glad  to  tell  you 
that  you  are  mistaken.  It  is  not  your  fault  that  it  is  not 
so — I  am  aware  of  that ;  but  I  am  quite  able  to  wish  you 
much  happiness,  and  to  be  very  certain  that  your  feeling 
for  myself  will  not  long  disturb  your  peace." 

It  is  the  simple  instinct  of  pride  and  self-respect 
which  gives  her  power  to  say  this,  but,  if  the  most  subtile 
knowledge  of  man's  nature  had  dictated  it,  she  could  not 
have  spoken  better.  To  Laurent  she  is  at  this  moment 
irresistible,  her  spirited  indifference  giving  the  last  touch 
of  fascination  to  the  charm  she  has  for  him. 

"  I  do  not  deserve  your  reproach,"  he  says,  "  for  I  am 
glad  that  I  have  not  involved  you  in  my  miserable  suffer- 
ing. I  had  not  thought  of  danger  when  I  met  you  first, 
nor  did  I  realize  that  I  loved  you  until  very  lately — too 


"IIOXOR  BEFORE  ALL   THIXGS."  115 

late  to  draw  back  from  tlie  peril.  Indeed,  some  peril 
is  so  sweet,  that  a  man  can  ask  nothing  better  than  to 
perish  in  it." 

"But  a  man  of  honor  has  no  right  to  draw  others 
into  peril,"  says  Roslyn,  proudly.  "I  do  not  mean 
to  reproach  you — nor  is  there  any  need  to  do  so — but 
I  can  not  forget  much  that  it  seems  you  have  forgot- 
ten." 

"  I  have  forgotten  nothing,"  he  answers.  "  If  I  have 
let  my  love  speak  in  glance  and  voice,  if  I  have  sought 
your  society  and  made  you  feel  that  your  presence  was 
the  highest  good  in  life  to  me,  how  could  I  help  it  ?  I 
never  knew,  I  never  dreamed,  that  I  could  feel  for  any 
woman  what  I  feel  for  you ;  but  I  could  as  soon  let  the 
blood  out  of  my  veins  as  alter  the  fact  now." 

The  passionate  sincerity  of  his  tone  affects  the  girl  as 
nothing  to  which  she  has  listened  has  ever  affected  her 
before.  She  is  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  she 
feels  that  the  scene  must  end,  or  she  can  not  answer  for 
her  self-control.  The  longing  to  escape  is  the  one  over- 
mastering desire  of  which  she  is  conscious,  and  she  rises 
to  her  feet  as  she  says  : 

"  I  do  not  think  I  care  to  listen  to  such  words.  They 
mean  nothing — or,  rather,  they  mean  a  breach  of  honor, 
after  what  you  have  told  me.  It  seems  strange  that  I 
should  need  to  remind  you  of  what  I  thought  every  gen- 
tleman must  feel,  that  honor  should  be  held  before  all 
things.  Even  if — if  I  loved  you,  I  should  say  that. 
There  is,  indeed,  nothing  else  to  say.  Now,  will  you  be 
kind  enough  to  return  to  Mr.  Stanley's,  and  let  me  go 
home  alone  ?     I  should  prefer  it." 

"  But  why  ?  Why  should  you  banish  me  ? "  he  says, 
imploringly.     "Nothing  is  different  from  what  it  was 


116  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

before  —  I  have  only  told  you  what  you  must  have 
known." 

"Kothing  different  from  what  it  was  before?"  she 
repeats.  "  What !  You  tell  me  in  the  same  breath  that 
you  love  me,  and  that  you  are  engaged  to  your  cousin, 
and  you  think  I  could  have  so  little  perception  of  what 
is  fitting,  so  little  self-respect,  as  to  suffer  matters  to  go 
on  as  they  have  done  ?  No,  Mr.  Laurent,  your  amuse- 
ment is  at  an  end.  I  shall  not  decline  to  see  you  if  you 
come  to  the  house — for  that  would  render  explanation 
necessary — but  I  hope  you  will  not  come  often ;  and  I 
think  that  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  away." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  Do  you  mean  it  ?  "  he  says,  in 
the  tone  of  one  moved  to  the  quick. 

"  Can  I  fail  to  mean  it  ? "  she  answers,  lifting  her 
head.  "  It  seems  to  me  it  is  the  only  honorable  thing  to 
do.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  wish  to  do  what  is 
honorable,  even  at  this  late  day." 

Certainly,  in  the  experience  of  most  of  us,  "it  is  the 
unforeseen  which  happens  "  ;  but  never  has  the  truth  of 
the  proverb  been  so  clearly  illustrated  to  Laurent  as  at 
the  present  moment.  Least  of  all  things  that  he  had 
foreseen  was  such  a  spirit  as  this  in  Roslyn ;  and  in  his 
surprise  and  perplexity  he  feels  that  it  is  better  to  let 
her  go  than  to  attempt  to  detain  her  in  her  present  mood. 
Uncovering,  therefore,  he  says  : 

"I  can  not  defend  myself;  but  perhaps  you  may 
think  of  me  more  kindly  and  justly  after  a  time.  At 
least,  if  I  have  been  wrong,  it  is  I  who  will  suffer  the 
penalty.  Will  you  not  say  good-by,  if  I  may  not  go  with 
you  %  Will  you  not  give  me  your  hand  ?  It  is  surely  no 
crime  to  love  you ! " 

But  she  does  not  answer,  and  she  does  not  give  her 


MR.   STANLEY  AMUSES  HIMSELF.  117 

hand.  She  turns,  instead,  and  flies  away  like  one  who 
seeks  a  haven  of  safety.  Where  she  is  going,  she  does 
not  know  until  she  finds  herself  at  the  familiar  garden- 
gate.  Then  she  looks  around  half  bewildered,  as  if 
questioning  whether  all  that  has  so  recently  passed  is 
not  a  dream,  and  as  one  arousing  to  consciousness  out  of 
stupor,  cries  : 

"  Thank  God,  I  did  not  let  him  know !  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MR.    STANLEY  AMUSES    HIMSELF. 

It  chances  that,  while  Laurent  has  been  in  the  woods 
with  Roslyn,  Mr.  Stanley,  having  some  motive  of  business 
or  pleasure  to  take  him  into  Kirton,  and  not  thinking  it 
worth  while  to  order  a  horse  of  his  own  while  one  stands 
ready  saddled  before  him,  has  mounted  the  animal  which 
Laurent  left,  and  gone  into  the  town. 

This  trifling  event  would  not  be  worth  recording — 
although  it  is  the  occasion  of  much  impatience  on  the 
part  of  Laurent,  when  he  returns,  to  find  that  his  horse 
has  vanished — but  for  the  consequences  flowing  there- 
from, and  flowing  very  immediately.  Having  transacted 
his  business,  Mr.  Stanley  is  briskly  riding  out  of  Kirton 
in  the  yellow  light  of  sunset,  when  to  his  great  surprise, 
in  sharply  turning  a  corner,  he  finds  himself  by  the  side 
of  Colonel  Duncan,  who,  also  mounted  on  horseback,  is 
riding  out  of  town. 

They  exchange  salutations,  and  then,  seeing  that  the 


118  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

latter  gentleman  looks  rather  curiously  at  his  own  horse, 
Mr.  Stanley  says : 

"  You  recognize  your  horse,  eh,  colonel  ?  It  is  by  a 
mere  accident  that  I  happen  to  be  riding  him.  Laurent 
called  at  my  house  an  hour  or  two  ago,  and  when  he  left, 
wanting  to  go  over  to  Mr.  Yardray's  by  the  foot-path — 
in  order,  I  suppose,  to  keep  some  tryst  with  pretty  Miss 
Roslyn — he  asked  me  to  send  the  horse  around  by  a 
servant  later  in  the  evening.  After  he  left,  thinking  of 
something  I  wanted  in  Kirton,  and  this  animal  being  con- 
venient, I  mounted  him  and  rode  in.  He  goes  well — re- 
markably well." 

"He  is  a  fine  horse,"  says  Colonel  Duncan,  "and  I 
know  you  to  be  a  judge  of  fine  horses,  Mr.  Stanley." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  have  a  little  knowledge  of  horse-flesh," 
admits  Mr.  Stanley,  modestly.  "  Not  much  more  than 
your  friend  young  Laurent,  however,"  he  adds,  with  a 
laugh.  "  He  is  as  good  a  judge  of  a  horse  as  of  a  pretty 
woman." 

Colonel  Duncan  frowns  slightly,  for  this  mode  of  talk 
is  as  objectionable  to  him  as  possible ;  but  for  the  first 
time  it  flashes  across  his  mind  that  Mr.  Stanley  probably 
knows  much  more  of  his  "  young  friend  Laurent "  than 
he  does  himself.  This  ignorance  would  not  seem  to  him 
a  matter  of  any  importance,  were  he  only  concerned  him- 
self, but  those  words,  "  keep  some  tryst  with  pretty  Miss 
Roslyn,"  have  suggested  a  fear  that  has  come  to  him 
more  than  once  before — that,  in  fact,  has  been  a  potent 
cause  in  bringing  him  home  unexpectedly  and  unan- 
nounced. He  has  an  instinct  that  Laurent  does  not  pos- 
sess the  high  sense  of  honor  which  alone  can  make  it 
safe  to  trust  a  man  in  a  position  of  temptation ;  and  an 
awakening  consciousness  of  this  aroused  him  out  of  his 


MR.   STANLEY  AMUSES  HIMSELF.  119 

dull  lethargy  of  pain  to  the  realization  that  he  had  not 
acted  well  in  leaving  the  girl  he  loved  exposed  to  such 
a  danger.  Now  a  pang  contracts  his  heart — a  very  un- 
selfish pang — as  he  thinks,  "  Have  I  come  too  late  ? "  and, 
for  her  sake,  he  proceeds  to  draw  out  Mr.  Stanley. 

That  gentleman  is  easily  drawn  out — reticence,  unless 
to  serve  some  end  of  his  own,  being  by  no  means  one  of 
his  characteristics.  In  the  space  of  fifteen  minutes,  Colo- 
nel Duncan  is  greatly  and  not  encouragingly  enlightened 
concerning  the  character  and  antecedents  of  the  man  who 
is  a  stranger  within  his  gates ;  and  then  follows  a  still 
greater  shock,  for  Mr.  Stanley  does  not  hesitate  to  assert 
that  a  regular  "  love-affair  "  is  in  progress  between  Lau- 
rent and  Roslyn. 

"It  has  not  seemed  my  business  to  warn  anybody 
concerned,"  he  says,  with  a  careless  shrug,  "  but  it  is  a 
pity  for  the  girl — a  great  pity !  It  is  not  in  the  least 
likely  that  he  thinks  of  marrying  her — he  can  hardly 
keep  his  head,  financially,  above  water  now,  and  is  the 
last  man  in  the  world  to  indulge  in  the  expensive  freak 
of  marrying  a  woman  for  her  pretty  face  ;  but  even  if  he 
were  inclined  to  marry,  he's  not  the  man  I'd  like  to  give 
my  daughter  to." 

"  But  is  it  likely — have  you  seen  or  known  of  any- 
thing to  make  you  believe  it  likely — that  Miss  Yardray 
has  become  attached  to  him  % '  asks  Duncan,  hating  him- 
self for  the  question,  yet  feeling  that  he  must  learn  all 
that  he  can,  in  order  to  be  sure  of  his  ground  for  future 
proceedings ;  and  being  aware  that,  through  Lettice,  Mr. 
Stanley  has  opportunities  of  acquiring  accurate  knowl- 
edge on  the  subject. 

The  other  laughs — a  slight  laugh,  but  more  signifi- 
cant than  many  words. 


120  KOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  You  know  Laurent,"  he  says.  "  Does  it  strike  you 
as  probable  that  any  girl  could  hold  her  own  against  the 
attentions  of  a  man  as  well  fitted  to  please  women  as  he 
is?" 

There  is  no  reply.  Colonel  Duncan  answers  the  ques- 
tion to  himself,  but  it  is  not  an  answer  he  is  disposed  to 
give  Mr.  Stanley.  Indeed,  at  this  point  their  roads  sep- 
arate, and  the  former  says : 

"  If  you  see  Laurent,  I  shall  feel  obliged  if  you  will 
let  him  know  that  I  have  returned." 

"  I'll  send  him  word  to  that  effect  when  I  send  the 
horse,"  replies  Mr.  Stanley.  "  I  am  not  likely  to  see  him 
again  to-day.     Good-evening." 

He  turns  into  the  road  leading  to  his  own  house, 
with  a  cheerful  air  and  light  spirit.  He  had  done  a  bit 
of  work  which  satisfies  him  very  well.  Many  an  old 
grudge  has  he  against  Colonel  Duncan — such  grudges  as 
the  black  sheep  of  civilization  generally  have  against  their 
white  brethren — and  he  feels  comfortably  conscious  that 
he  has  paid  them  all  off  in  the  news  which  it  was  his 
good  fortune  to  communicate.  As  for  Laurent,  if  he 
bears  no  grudge  against  him,  neither  has  he  any  reason 
to  spare  him  ;  and  since  his  chief  delight,  from  his  youth 
upward,  has  been  in  the  doing  of  mischief  simply  for  the 
sake  of  mischief,  he  is  very  well  pleased  with  that  which 
he  has  just  had  the  opportunity  to  do. 

Meanwhile,  the  man  to  whom  he  has  done  this  good 
turn  has  been  inwardly  execrating  him  almost  as  heartily 
as  if  he  had  known  of  it,  as  he  sits  on  the  veranda  in  the 
twilight,  waiting  for  his  horse.  Lettice  has  come  out  to 
explain  the  absence  of  the  horse,  and  to  do  a  little  duty 
work  in  the  way  of  entertaining  him  ;  but  she  finds  the 
latter  very  up-hill  work,  for  Mr.  Laurent  is  distinctly  and 


MR   STANLEY  AMUSES  HIMSELF.  121 

unmistakably  in  a  bad  temper.  Indeed,  so  marked  is 
this,  that  it  occurs  to  the  shrewd  young  maiden  that  some 
deeper  reason  than  that  which  appears  on  the  surface 
must  be  the  cause  of  it. 

"  I  hope  you  found  them  all  well  at  Verdevale,"  she 
says,  with  the  most  innocent  air.  "  I  have  not  seen  any 
of  the  family  for  a  day  or  two." 

"I  have  not  been  to  Verdevale,"  answers  Mr.  Lau- 
rent, quite  shortly. 

"  Ah  !  you  met  Roslyn,  then  ? "  she  says,  in  the  tone 
of  one  drawing  a  natural  and  inevitable  conclusion. 

Laurent  is  very  much  inclined  to  exclaim,  "  Why  the 
mischief  should  you  suppose  that  ? "  but  some  vague  idea 
of  the  courtesy  due  to  a  woman  interferes  to  prevent  the 
speech,  and  he  reflects  that  there  would  be  no  good  in 
denying  that  he  met  Hoslyn,  since  it  is  so  easy  for  Let- 
tice  to  discover  that  he  did.  Therefore  he  answers,  with 
more  than  a  shade  of  irritation  in  his  tone  : 

"  Yes,  I  met  Miss  Yardray." 

"And  she  did  not  come  back  with  you  to  see  me!" 
says  Lettice,  ignoring  the  irritation.  "  I  consider  that 
very  unkind  on  her  part — unless  you  stopped  her  in 
order  to  enjoy  her  society  yourself." 

"  We  took  a  short  walk,"  says  Laurent,  stiffly,  "  and 
then  she  returned  to  Verdevale,  while  I  decided  to  come 
back  here  for  my  horse." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  should  have  to  wait  for  him,"  says 
Lettice — while  her  thoughts  are  busy  with  the  problem 
thus  set  before  her.  Something  is  plainly  the  matter — 
something  which  has  ruffled  the  equanimity  of  Laurent 
to  a  most  unusual  degree.  "  Can  things  have  gone  so 
far  that  he  is  forbidden  to  visit  Roslyn,  and  is  making  a 
convenience  of  us  in  order  to  meet  her  ?  "  she  thinks. 

6 


122  ROSLYN' 8  FORTUNE. 

While  she  is  pondering  this  question,  Laurent  rises  to 
his  feet  with  an  exclamation  of  relief.  "  There  he  is,  at 
last ! "  he  says,  and  goes  hastily  forward,  as  Mr.  Stanley 
comes  riding  up  to  the  door. 

"  "What,  my  dear  fellow,  are  you  here  ?  "  says  that 
gentleman,  cheerily.  "  Why,  this  is  quite  unexpected. 
Was  Miss  Roslyn  not  at  home  ?  " 

"  I  decided  to  return  for  my  horse,"  replies  Laurent, 
brusquely — "  and  I  have  had  to  wait  a  considerable  time 
for  him." 

"  Sorry  to  hear  it,"  says  Mr.  Stanley  carelessly  ;  "  but, 
I  bring  you  some  news  in  return  for  having  borrowed 
him  without  leave.  I  met  Colonel  Duncan  as  I  was 
leaving  Kirton,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  riding  a  mile  or 
so  with  him.  He  asked  me,  if  I  saw  you  again,  to  let 
you  know  that  he  has  gone  on  to  Cliffton." 

"  Indeed  ! "  says  Laurent,  without  any  indication  of 
surprise.  He  mounts  his  horse  almost  as  soon  as  Mr.  Stan- 
ley has  dismounted,  and,  with  scant  adieus,  rides  away. 

"He  was  in  a  very  bad  temper  at  not  finding  his 
horse,  papa,"  says  Lettice,  quietly,  as  her  father  comes  on 
the  veranda  where  she  sits. 

"  Yery  likely,  my  dear,"  replies  Mr.  Stanley,  calmly. 
"  He  is  a  young  gentleman  much  given  to  bad  temper 
when  things  do  not  suit  him  ;  but  what  brought  him 
back,  when  he  said  that  he  did  not  mean  to  come  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  answers  Lettice,  the  prudent.  "He 
only  mentioned  that  he  met  Roslyn  and  took  a  walk  with 
her." 

"  And  she  sent  him  back  here ! '  says  Mr.  Stanley, 
with  a  laugh.  "  She  is  a  sensible  girl,  and  knows  how 
to  keep  things  smooth  at  home.  But  I  think  Mr.  Lau- 
rent will  have  some  good  reason  for  bad  temper  before 


MS.  STANLEY  AMUSES  HIMSELF.  123 

long,"  lie  adds  with,  a  complacent  nod,  as  he  walks  into 
the  house. 

A  prophet  could  not  have  spoken  more  truly,  for 
Laurent  has  reason  for  very  bad  temper,  indeed,  before 
he  is  many  hours  older.  Colonel  Duncan  is  a  man  with- 
out the  faintest  power  of  simulation,  and  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  him  to  meet  his  kinsman  as  if  no  change 
had  come  over  his  feelings  toward  him,  when  in  reality 
he  is  filled  with  wrath  and  indignation.  In  his  first 
greeting,  Laurent  sees  tokens  of  this,  and  divines  what  is 
to  follow — what  does  follow  speedily.  Duncan  is  not  a 
man  of  many  words ;  so  the  reproach,  when  it  comes,  is 
keen,  the  charge  direct.  Its  very  directness  makes  it 
almost  impossible  to  evade  it,  were  Laurent  disposed  to 
do  so.  But  he  is  not.  To-night,  at  least,  he  is  ready  to 
avow  the  worst,  ready  to  say,  "  If  this  be  treason,  make 
the  most  of  it ! "  And,  as  is  natural,  his  candor  disarms 
the  elder  man  somewhat.  What  can  he  reply  to  such  a 
med  culjyd  plea  as  this  ? 

"  Yes,"  says  Laurent,  "  your  instinct,  or  your  informa- 
tion, is  correct.  I  have  behaved  like  a  scoundrel,  I  sup- 
pose— and  you  may  call  me  one  if  you  like.  That  is,  I 
have  fallen  in  love  with  Miss  Vardrav,  and  I  have  made 
love  to  her — the  last,  however,  not  until  I  told  her  the 
whole  truth.  I  told  her  that  I  am  engaged,  but  that  I 
have  the  misfortune  to  love  her ;  and  she  told  me  scorn- 
fully that  the  information  did  not  interest  her  in  the 
least.  That  is  how  the  matter  stands  :  so  you  see  that 
I  am  the  only  injured  person — which  ought  to  be,  no 
doubt,  a  solid  and  substantial  comfort  to  me,  but  is  rather 
the  reverse ;  for,  if  she  had  acknowledged  that  she  loved 
me,  I  should  as  certainly  break  my  engagement  with  my 
cousin  as  I  stand  here  now." 


124  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"And  do  you  think  that  would  be  honorable  con- 
duct ? "  asks  Colonel  Duncan. 

"Who  can  tell?"  replies  the  other.  "It  is  hard, 
sometimes,  to  know  where  honor  lies.  It  strikes  me  that 
it  would  lie  rather  in  marrying  a  woman  who  loves  me 
and  whom  I  love,  than  in  making  a  cold-blooded  marriage 
of  convenience." 

"  You  should  have  considered  the  cold-bloodedness  of 
a  marriage  of  convenience  before  engaging  yourself  to 
make  it.  A  matrimonial  engagement,  once  made,  is  some- 
thing from  which  no  man  of  honor  can  recede.  Hoslyn 
Yardray  is  not  the  girl  I  believe  her  to  be  if  she  did  not 
tell  you  that." 

"  She  did  tell  me  so — with  the  most  unmistakable 
emphasis,"  says  Laurent.  "  But — she  did  not  deny  that 
she  loves  me ;  and,  what  a  woman  does  not  deny,  she 
almost  affirms.     That  is  my  only  hoj^e." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  talk  of  hope  while  your  en- 
gagement binds  you,"  says  Colonel  Duncan,  sternly. 
"Remember  that  I  introduced  you  into  the  Yardray 
household,  and  therefore  I  feel  myself  accountable 
for  your  conduct.  I  should  feel  it  in  the  case  of  any 
girl,  but  especially  do  I  feel  it  with  regard  to  Roslyn, 
for  whom  I  have  always  entertained  a  peculiar  affection. 
I  insist,  I  have  a  right  to  insist,  that  you  do  not  see  her 
again  under  present  circumstances.  If  you  choose  to 
break  your  engagement,  you  can  then  go  to  her  as  a 
free  man,  and  see  what  she  will  say  to  you  ;  but  now  I 
am  determined  to  shield  her  from  bitterness  of  any  kind, 
and  I  repeat  that  you  must  go  away  without  seeing  her 
again." 

"  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  you  have  a  right  to  in- 
sist upon  it,"  says  Laurent,  coolly  ;  "  but  it  is  pretty  much 


TAKING   COUNSEL.  125 

what  I  have  myself  determined  to  do.  Only" — he 
pauses  an  instant — "  I  hardly  see  how  breaking  my  en- 
gagement will  bring  me  much  nearer  to  her ;  for,  placed 
as  I  am,  I  confess  that  it  would  be  simple  madness  for 
me  to  think  of  marrying  a  portionless  wife." 

"  And  will  you  tell  me,"  says  Colonel  Duncan,  with 
deep,  concentrated  indignation,  u  why  you  did  not  think 
of  this  before  uttering  a  word  of  love  to  a  portionless 
girl  ? " 

"Because  the  utterance  came  like  the  love  itself, 
without  thought,"  answers  Laurent.  "  Some  impulses 
are  beyond  a  man's  control." 

"  Beyond  some  men's  control,"  says  Colonel  Duncan 
dryly ;  and  there  abruptly  ends  the  conversation. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

TAKING    COUNSEL. 

Colonel  Duncan's  meditations,  during  the  night 
which  follows,  are  of  a  very  perplexing  order.  Setting 
aside  his  own  feelings  altogether — as,  with  the  unselfish- 
ness of  a  great  nature,  he  is  able  to  do — he  decides  that 
it  is  incumbent  on  him  to  apply  whatever  remedy  may 
be  in  his  power  to  the  state  of  affairs  between  his  cousin 
and  Roslyn.  He  does  not  doubt  that  the  latter  returns 
the  passion  of  Laurent,  but  the  doubt  in  his  mind  is, 
whether  it  might  not  be  better  that  she  should  suffer 
from  that  common  calamity  of  youth,  "  an  unfortunate 
attachment,"  than  to  unite  her  life  to  one  wTho,  accord- 


126  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

ing  to  his  judgment,  would  not  be  likely  to  make  any 
woman  happy.  This  is  the  question  which  he  debates 
during  the  long  watches  of  the  night ;  and  his  final 
decision  is,  that  he  will  see  Roslyn  herself,  and  be  guided 
by  what  he  can  learn  or  can  judge  of  her  state  of  feeling. 
"  If  the  attachment  is  strong  and  likely  to  endure  with 
her,"  he  thinks,  "  matters  must  be  arranged  so  that  she 
will  not  suffer.  I  could  endure  anything  better  than  to 
see  that  radiant  face  clouded  by  sorrow  and  despair." 

Acting  on  this  resolution — of  which,  however,  he  says 
nothing;  to  Laurent — he  mounts  his  horse  the  next  morn- 
ing,  and  rides  over  to  Yerdevale.  He  is  welcomed  cor- 
dially by  all  the  family,  with  the  exception  of  Roslyn, 
who  does  not  appear ;  and,  when  he  inquires  for  her,  he  is 
told  that  she  is  not  at  home. 

"  She  went  early  this  morning  into  Kirton,"  says  Mrs. 
Yardray,  "  to  spend  a  few  days  with  her  aunt  Lavinia." 

"  I  will  call  and  see  her,  then,"  says  Colonel  Duncan, 
"  since  I  am  going  to  ride  into  Kirton  myself." 

An  hour  later  he  is  dismounting  at  the  gate  of  a  large, 
old-fashioned  house,  set  far  back  from  the  street,  in  spa- 
cious greenness,  which  is  the  residence  of  Mr.  Vardray's 
widowed  sister,  Mrs.  Arden.  Her  only  daughter  having 
married  and  moved  away,  she  lives  here  alone,  save  when 
provided  with  companionship  by  the  visits  of  her  grand- 
children, or  of  Roslyn,  to  whom  she  is  greatly  attached. 
But  being  always  the  center  of  a  social  circle,  she  can 
not  be  said  to  lead  a  lonely  life,  although  it  is,  in  great 
measure,  a  solitary  one. 

Colonel  Duncan  feels  it  necessary  to  ask  for  her,  al- 
though he  is  burning  with  impatience  to  see  Roslyn,  and 
Roslyn  alone ;  but  it  is  only  in  the  power  and  presence 
of  some  great  emergency  that  we  can  violate  the  useful 


TAKING    COUNSEL.  127 

and  necessary  conventionalities  of  civilized  life.  He  is 
shown,  therefore,  into  Mrs.  Arden's  sitting-room,  and  re- 
ceived by  her  most  kindly.  She  is  a  blithe,  elderly  lady, 
with  a  cheery  manner  and  a  charming  smile,  whose  popu- 
larity arises  from  her  genuine  warmth  of  heart,  although 
this  warmth  is  not  indiscriminate.  She  has  her  favorites, 
and,  among  them,  few  rank  so  high  as  Hugo  Duncan.  It 
has  long  been  one  of  the  chief  desires  of  her  heart  that  he 
may  succeed  in  winning  her  pretty  niece ;  and  she  has 
consequently  regarded  with  the  most  marked  disfavor  all 
other  candidates  for  that  young  lady's  hand. 

Duncan's  eager  eyes  sweep  the  apartment  as  he  enters, 
in  search  of  Roslyn,  hardly  knowing  until  this  moment 
how  hungry  is  his  heart  for  the  sight  of  her;  but  she  is 
not  to  be  seen.  Only  Mrs.  Arden  rises  from  her  accus- 
tomed seat  and  comes  forward  to  welcome  him. 

"  This  is  a  very  unexpected  pleasure,  Colonel  Dun- 
can," she  says,  "  though  not  the  less  for  being  unexpect- 
ed. But  I  heard  of  your  departure  some  weeks  ago, 
and  did  not  know  that  you  had  returned." 

"I  only  returned  yesterday,  quite  unannounced,"  Dun- 
can answers.  "  It  is  among  the  doubtful  privileges  of  a 
bachelor  existence  that  one  can  come  and  go  when  one 
likes,  without  feeling  bound  to  give  warning  of  arrival 
or  departure." 

"  A  very  doubtful  privilege,  I  should  think,"  says  the 
lady,  shaking  her  head.  "  I  don't  know  which  is  most 
desirable,  to  have  some  one  to  say  good-by  when  one  goes, 
or  to  welcome  one  when  one  returns." 

"  But  if  one  is  not  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  any  one 
to  perform  either  of  those  gracious  offices,  one  must  find 
what  consolation  is  possible  in  the  freedom  of  loneliness," 
replies  Duncan,  smiling. 


128  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  I  don't  believe  there  is  much  consolation  in  it  for 
you,"  says  Mrs.  Arden.  "  I  have  a  better  opinion  of  you. 
But,  however  that  may  be,  your  journey  has  not  done  you 
any  physical  good,Jf  I  may  judge  by  your  appearance. 
You  are  looking  fagged  and  worn." 

"A  usual  result  of  travel  and  warm  weather,"  says 
Duncan ;  and  then,  being  so  much  preoccupied  in  mind, 
that  it  is  with  an  effort  he  sustains  the  conversation,  his 
eyes  wistfully  travel  around  the  room  again. 

Mrs.  Arden  catches  the  glance,  and  smiles. 

"  I  know  who  it  is  you  want  to  see,  my  dear  colonel," 
she  says ;  "  and  I  am  not  so  obtuse  or  hard-hearted  that  I 
intend  to  monopolize  your  visit.  I  will  send  for  Roslyn 
presently ;  but,  first,  will  you  let  me  ask  something  about 
the  young  man  of  whom  I  have  lately  heard  a  good  deal 
as  being  with  you  at  Cliffton  1  Laurent  is  his  name,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  He  is  a  son  of  Ada  Duncan,  a  cousin  of  mine,  whom 
you  may  remember  as  having  been  at  Cliffton  once  in  her 
girlhood,"  Duncan  answers.  "  I  confess  that  I  know  lit- 
tle of  the  young  man  himself.  He  came  to  my  door  as  a 
kinsman,  and  you  know  the  clanship  feeling  that  goes 
with  Scottish  blood.  It  was  enough  for  me  that  he  was 
a  kinsman,  until — until  lately." 

Mrs.  Arden  nods. 

"  Yes,"  she  says.  "  I  understand.  It  was  like  a  man 
not  to  think  of  consequences,  not  to  realize  that  his  being 
a  kinsman  was  not  warrant  enough  for  letting  him  carry 
off  our  bonny  Roslyn." 

"  Has  it  come  to  that  \ "  asks  Duncan,  in  dismay.  He 
thought  he  had  prepared  himself  to  know  the  worst — to 
know  that  her  heart  had  gone  forever  beyond  his  reach 
— yet  the  certainty  which  seemed  to  him  contained  in 


TAKING   COUNSEL.  129 

Mrs.  Arden's  words  sends  a  sharp,  sick  throb  of  pain 
through  all  his  being. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  has,"  replies  the  lady.  "  I  have  heard 
rumors  and  reports,  of  course — you  know  how  such  things 
get  about — but  I  would  not  believe  that  there  was  any 
danger  until  the  child  came  to  me  this  morning.  The 
first  look  in  her  eyes  was  enough  to  tell  me  that  a  change 
has  come  over  her,  that  she  has  lost  the  gayety  of  an  un- 
troubled heart  and  drank  her  first  draught  of  sorrow.  I 
don't  know  what  her  coming  here  means,  but  I  will  tell 
you  what  she  said — I  think  you  have  a  right  to  know." 

"  If  the  desire  to  serve  her  is  a  right,  I  have,"  says 
Duncan. 

"  She  said,"  Mrs.  Arden  goes  on :  "  '  I  have  not  come 
to  see  you  from  an  entirely  unselfish  motive,  Aunt  La- 
vinia — in  fact,  not  from  an  unselfish  motive  at  all.  I 
have  come  because  I  want  to  be  away  from  home  for  a 
few  days.  I  may  be  forced  there  to  see  people  whom  I 
do  not  want  to  see ;  but  here  I  can  refuse  myself  to  whom 
I  like.' 

"  Of  course,  I  did  not  ask  whom  she  wished  to  avoid. 
I  only  kissed  her  and  told  her  that  I  was  glad  to  see  her 
from  whatever  reason  she  came,  and  that  she  should  re- 
fuse herself  to  whomever  she  liked.  But  I  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  conjecturing  whom  she  meant,  and  neither,  I 
suppose,  have  you." 

"  I  know  very  well,"  he  answers.  "  I  have  heard  the 
whole  story  from  the  man  whom  I  blame  myself  bitterly 
for  having  left  in  a  position  of  temptation.  It  is  because 
I  have  heard  it,  that  I  am  here  this  morning  to  see  lios- 
lyn." 

Mrs.  Arden  looks  at  him  hesitatingly  for  an  instant 
before  she  speaks.     Then  she  says : 


130  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  or  not  to  ask  if  yon  feel  at 
liberty  to  let  me  know  the  whole.  It  is  needless,  I  am 
sure,  to  say — you  will  understand  this — that  my  interest 
does  not  arise  from  curiosity,  but  from  my  love  for  the 
child.  If  I  can  be  of  no  service  in  any  way,  we  will  not 
waste  time  in  a  useless  discussion  ;  but  if  I  can  help  you 
by  advice  or  otherwise,  you  know  how  glad  I  shall  be 
to  do  so." 

"  I  think,  perhaps,  you  may  help  me  by  advice,"  he 
says.  "  I  feel  the  need  of  counsel,  and  I  know  that  you 
are  competent  to  give  it — that  I  may  rely  both  upon  your 
good  sense  and  your  love  for  your  niece.  I  will  tell  you, 
then,  all  that  I  know,  and  see  whether  your  opinion  coin- 
cides with  my  own,  as  to  the  course  which  I  have  thought 
of  taking." 

So  he  tells  it  all — his  accidental  meeting  with  Mr. 
Stanley  on  the  preceding  evening,  the  gossip  which  that 
gentleman  related,  his  indignation  against  Laurent,  the 
story  of  the  latter,  and  his  own  mental  debate  there- 
upon. 

"  You  see,  I  reproach  myself  so  much  for  having  in- 
troduced this  young  man  at  Yerdevale  in  the  familiar 
manner  1  did,  that  I  feel  responsible  for  the  result  of  the 
intimacy  thus  established,"  he  says.  "  He  could  not,  even 
if  he  had  been  presented  by  myself,  but  in  a  more  formal 
way,  have  had  the  vantage-ground  of  such  unrestrained 
intercourse  as  my  folly  gave  him  ;  for  Mrs.  Yard  ray  had 
an  instinctive  distrust  of  him  from  the  very  first.  She 
would  have  been  on  her  guard,  and  would  have  kept  him 
at  a  ceremonious  distance,  but  for  my  indorsement  of 
him  as  my  kinsman.  And  since  it  is  by  my  fault  that 
this  unfortunate  state  of  affairs  has  come  about,  it  is  in- 
cumbent upon  me  to  do  what  I  can  to  smooth  matters.     I 


TAKING    COUNSEL.  131 

must  straighten  the  tangled  threads,  if  it  is  in  my  power 
to  do  so." 

"  I  do  not,  I  confess,  see  any  way  by  which  you  can 
straighten  them,"  says  Mrs.  Arden.  "If  the  man  is  en- 
gaged to  another  woman,  and  ruined  besides,  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  only  thing,  as  well  as  the  best  thing,  is  for 
him  to  go  away — the  sooner  the  better.  He  has  certain- 
ly not  acted  as  a  man  of  honor." 

"  He  certainly  has  not,"  says  Duncan  ;  "  but  remember 
that  he  is  young,  impulsive,  and  the  temptation  was  great. 
Few  men  in  his  position  would  have  acted  differently — 
many  would  not  have  acted  as  well,  for  he  might  have 
told  his  love  without  telling  of  his  engagement." 

"  A  man  does  not  tell  his  love  only  in  words,"  says 
Mrs.  Arden.  "He  tells  it  in  unnumbered  ways — in  look, 
in  tone,  in  devotion  of  manner.  Do  you  think  women 
are  blind? — do  you  fancy  we  are  insensible  to  the  whole 
course  of  wooing  until  the  end  comes  in  the  question, 
'  Do  you  love  me  ? '  If  Mr.  Laurent  wishes  to  save  his 
character  for  honor  in  that  way,  I  consider  it  a  very  shal- 
low device.  By  every  means  in  his  power  he  tried  to  win 
Roslyn's  heart,  and  then  he  says  that  he  told  her  of  his 
engagement  before  telling  her  of  his  love !  What  right 
had  he  to  mention  love  then  ?  I  should  have  called  it  an 
insult ! " 

She  speaks  with  energy — color  flushing  her  cheeks,  and 
fire  flashing  from  her  still  bright  eyes ;  and  Duncan  feels 
that  a  female  Daniel  has  come  to  judgment,  on  whom  no 
plea  of  mercy  will  have  effect. 

"  ]S"o  doubt  you  are  right,"  he  answers.  "  I  can  not 
condone  his  conduct — I  can  not  even  excuse  it  on  any 
ground  save  that  of  overwhelming  temptation.  Of 
course,  he  would  not  have  yielded   to  the   temptation, 


132  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

strong  as  it  undoubtedly  was,  if  lie  were  not  weak  as 
well  as — " 

"  Unprincipled,"  was  the  word  lie  is  on  the  point  of 
uttering;  but  he  checks  himself,  and  goes  on  after  a 
scarcely  noticeable  pause,  "  Putting  him  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, however — for,  on  his  own  merit  alone,  he  would  re- 
ceive no  consideration  from  me — I  must  ask  you  to  re- 
member this,  which  is  my  sole  concern  in  the  matter,  that 
we  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  Roslyn  loves  him, 
and  it  is  her  happiness  of  which  I  am  thinking,  and  which 
I  desire  to  secure." 

Mrs.  Arden  looks  at  him  as  if  she  would  read  the  very 
dejDths  of  his  heart,  were  such  a  thing  possible.  "  What 
is  the  man  made  of  ? '  she  wonders.  "  Does  he  love  Ros- 
lyn  himself,  and  if  so,  by  what  power  of  self-abnegation 
can  he  talk  so  calmly  of  securing  her  happiness  by  giving 
her  to  another  man  ? "  These  are  her  thoughts,  but  she 
does  not  express  them  when  she  says : 

"  To  gratify  an  unwise  passion  would  be  to  insure 
her  unhappiness,  rather  than  to  secure  her  happiness, 
believe  me,  Colonel  Duncan.  I,  for  one,"  she  continues, 
very  earnestly,  "am  altogether  opposed  to  anything  so 
short-sighted.  Say  that  she  is  in  love  with  the  man, 
what  then  ?  She  will  not  be  the  first  girl,  by  many,  who 
has  suffered  a  heart-ache  and  been  cured  in  due  time — 
and  she  will  not  be  the  last.  Xeither  do  I  think  that 
she  is  likely  to  suffer  long.  But,  even  if  she  does  suffer, 
will  not  that  be  better,  a  thousand  times  better,  than 
for  her  to  marry  such  a  man  as  this  must  be — a  man 
without  stable  principle,  a  mauvais  sujet  of  the  worst 
description  ? " 

"I  am  afraid  she  would  not  agree  with  you,"  says 
Duncan,  quietly ;  but  there  is  a  look  of  pain  on  his  face, 


TAKIXG   COUNSEL.  133 

which  causes  Mrs.  Arden  to  regret  having  spoken  so 
warmly  and  unguardedly  ;  and  she  exclaims,  quickly : 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  seem  too  harsh  in  my  judgment,  and 
if  I  forgot  for  the  moment  that  one  so  totally  unlike  your- 
self is  your  kinsman." 

"  There  is  no  need  to  apologize  for  anything  that  you 
have  said,"  he  answers,  simply ;  "  you  can  not  think  more 
harshly  of  him  than  I  am  inclined  to  think.  But  I  wish 
to  be  reasonable  and  just ;  and  indeed,  as  I  said  before, 
it  is  not  of  him  that  I  think — it  is  of  her." 

"And  you  wish  to  do  what  is  best  for  her,  I  am 
sure  ? " 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  Suppose  that  Koslyn  were  your  daughter — all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case  being  the  same  as  now — would 
you  permit  her  to  marry  Mr.  Laurent  if  you  could  pre- 
vent such  a  thing  ?  I  am  confident  that  you  would  not," 
she  continues,  as  Colonel  Duncan  hesitates  an  instant. 
"  You  would  feel  it  your  duty  to  oppose  such  a  marriage 
to  the  utmost.  And  do  you  think  it  right  to  encourage, 
if  not  promote  it,  as  you  propose  to  do  in  the  present  in- 
stance ? " 

Duncan  rises  from  his  seat  and  takes  a  turn  up  and 
down  the  floor  before  he  answers.  Then  he  sits  down 
again,  and  says,  in  a  low  tone  : 

"  I  can  not  endure  to  think  of  her  suffering  as  she  will 
— as  she  must  suffer  if  she  loves  him  and  has  to  give  up 
her  love — and  to  feel  that  I  am  to  blame  for  it." 

"  You  will  be  still  more  to  blame  if  you  involve  her 
in  the  life-long  wretchedness  of  an  unhappy  marriage," 
says  Mrs.  Arden,  gravely.  "  And  there  is  another  thing 
to  be  considered.  Since  your  cousin  is  ruined  in  fortune, 
and  frankly  says  that  he  must  marry  money,  how  do  you 


13±  EOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

expect  him  to  marry  Roslyn,  who  will  have  nothing  till 
her  father  dies,  and  then  very  little  ?  " 

"  I  should  settle  that  by  securing  my  fortune  to  her," 
answers  Colonel  Duncan,  calmly. 

Mrs.  Arden  regards  him  with  the  air  of  one  who  is 
unable  to  credit  the  evidence  of  her  ears. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  she  says,  "  but  did  I  understand  you 
rightly  ? — did  you  say  secure  your  fortune  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  said  that,"  he  replies.  "  Is  it  strange  ?  You  surely 
know  how  deeply  I  am  attached  to  her  :  what  better  use 
could  I  make  of  what  is  mine,  than  to  secure  her  happi- 
ness with  it?  You  know,  perhaps,  that  Laurent  is,  by 
my  uncle's  will,  the  heir  of  Cliffton,  if  I  die  childless :  so 
I  should  simply  be  adding  to  what  he  will  inherit  the 
rest  of  the  estate.     That  would  be  Koslyn's  dower." 

The  simplicity  of  his  manner,  as  well  as  of  his  words, 
carries  conviction  of  his  sincerity  to  his  listener ;  and  if 
for  a  minute  she  does  not  speak,  it  is  because  the  tears, 
which  rush  to  her  eyes,  also  choke  her.     Then : 

"  And  you — you  love  her  like  this,"  she  cries  at  last, 
"  to  a  point  of  generosity  beyond  anything  that  I  have 
ever  heard  of  in  any  other  man,  and  are  yet  so  blind  as  to 
think  of  giving  her  up — for  her  happiness,  indeed  !  For 
her  lasting  misery,  you  will  find,  if  you  succeed  in  carry- 
ing out  your  scheme  of  ill-judged  generosity  ! " 

"  But  you  forget,"  he  says,  "  that  it  is  no  question  of 
1  giving  up  '  with  me.  I  do  not  think  I  should  be  mag- 
nanimous enough  for  that.  She  has  told  me  distinctly 
that  she  can  care  nothing  for  me — I  suppose  I  was  a  fool 
ever  to  think  that  she  could  ;  and  shall  I  be  selfish  enough 
to  let  any  thought  of  myself  stand  in  the  way  of  what 
may  make  her  happiness  ?  " 

"  Putting  aside  the  fact  which  I  have  already  repeated 


ROSLTN  DECIDES.  135 

often  enough — I  mean  that  I  can  not  believe  yon  would 
secure  her  happiness  in  this  way,"  says  Mrs.  Arden,  "  have 
you  wholly  forgotten  yourself — your  own  future  I  Surely 
you  are  not  so  foolish  as  to  fancy  that  life  is  over  for  you, 
because  a  silly  girl  has  said  no." 

"  I  do  not  fancy  that,  in  any  sense,  it  is  over  for  me," 
he  answers ;  "  but  I  am  certain  that  I  shall  never  marry, 
and  hence  I  have  a  right  to  dispose  of  my  fortune  as  I 
like.  What  I  desire  is  to  see  Koslyn,  and  learn  from 
herself  how  she  regards  Laurent — for  all  depends  on 
that." 

"  I  have  always  trusted  a  great  deal  to  Roslyn's  sense," 
says  Mrs.  Arden,  "  and  Heaven  grant  I  have  not  trusted 
in  vain  !  I  will  send  her  to  you  ;  but  before  I  go  I  must 
say  that  I  think  it  is  an  honor  to  have  seen  and  known  a 
man  who  can  so  nobly  forget  himself." 

With  this,  and  before  he  can  reply,  she  has  left  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

KOSLYN   DECIDES. 

Some  time  elapses  before  Roslyn  appears — so  long 
a  time  that  Duncan  begins  to  fear  she  will  not  come ; 
but  at  last  the  door  uncloses  slowly,  and  she  enters. 

The  recollection  of  when  and  how  they  parted  last  is 
not  much  in  the  mind  of  either.  Since  then,  time  seems 
to  have  stretched  out  interminably  to  Roslyn — a  new  life 
filled  with  new  emotions,  and  lately  pierced  with  keen 
pain  ;  while  Duncan  is  thinking  so  much  of  her  that  he 
has  not  time  to  think  of  himself.     lie  is  struck,  as  he 


136  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

comes  forward  and  takes  her  hand,  with  the  change  in 
her  of  which  Mrs.  Arden  spoke :  it  is  almost  intangible 
and  quite  indescribable,  but  he  sees  it,  though  she  smiles 
and  lifts  her  eyes  with  the  old  frank  look  of  welcome. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  back  again,"  she  says. 
"  When  did  you  return  ? " 

He  answers  her  question — speaking  half-mechanically 
— and  then  they  sit  down  and  look  at  each  other  :  he 
with  an  anxious  inquiry  that  he  can  not  disguise,  she 
with  a  shrinking  from  scrutiny  that  he  observes  in  her 
for  the  first  time,  a  feeling  which  makes  her  rush  into 
speech,  since  he  does  not  speak  at  once  again : 

"  Have  you  been  to  Yerdevale  ?  But  of  course  you 
have,  or  you  would  not  have  known  that  I  am  here. 
They  must  all  have  been  delighted  to  see  you." 

"  They  were  all  very  kind  in  welcoming  me,"  he  re- 
plies ;  "  but  I  confess  I  did  not  think  as  much  of  their 
welcome  as  perhaps  I  ought  to  have  done,  for  I  went  to 
see  you,  and  you  only." 

"Did  you?"  she  says,  in  a  tone  of  surprise;  then 
there  flashes  into  her  mind  for  the  first  time  a  recollection 
of  his  words  when  they  were  together  last,  and  the  color 
on  her  face  deepens.  "  I  only  came  into  town  this  morn- 
ing," she  adds,  hastily,  and  not  very  relevantly. 

"  I  know,"  he  answers.  "  I  also  know  why  you 
came,"  he  goes  on,  thinking  that  it  is  best  to  plunge  into 
his  subject  at  once.  "  Will  you  let  me  speak  frankly  to 
you  ?     Laurent  has  told  me  his  story." 

She  changes  color  again — to  paleness  now.  But  she 
shows  no  sign  of  astonishment,  for  some  instinct  has 
warned  her  that  it  is  with  regard  to  Laurent  that  he  is 
here. 

"  Yes,  you  may  speak  frankly,"  she  answers ;  "  but  I 


ROSLYN  DECIDES.  137 

do  not  know  that  there  is  anything  to  be  said — concern- 
ing  Mr.  Laurent." 

"  There  is  this  to  be  said,"  Duncan  replies,  "  that  I 
blame  myself  for  having  gone  away  without  previously 
telling  you  of  his  engagement.  It  is  true  that  I  warned 
him  ;  but  I  should  have  known  that  it  was  a  position  of 
great  danger  for  any  young  man — and,  for  your  sake,  I 
ought  to  have  been  thoroughly  open  on  the  subject.  I 
might  have  foreseen  what  would  happen." 

"  Do  you  mean  with  regard  to  me  f  "  she  asks.  Un- 
consciously she  lifts  her  head  proudly.  If  she  is  miser- 
able, she  does  not  mean  to  be  weak.  "  So  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  nothing  has  happened,  except  that  I  have 
come  here  to  avoid  meeting  a  man  who  has  behaved  in 
a  dishonorable  manner." 

The  curl  of  her  lips,  the  light  in  her  eyes,  give  added 
emphasis  to  her  words — words  that  in  their  trenchant 
clearness  astonish  Duncan ;  for  though  Laurent  has 
spoken  of  her  scorn,  he  is  not  prepared  for  so  explicit  an 
expression  of  it  as  this.  He  feels  for  a  moment  uncer- 
tain how  to  answer.  He  has  not  come  with  any  inten- 
tion of  pleading  his  cousin's  cause,  yet  his  next  words 
are  words  of  apology  for  the  young  man. 

"  I  understand  your  indignation,"  he  says  ;  "  but  it  is 
only  just  to  remember  how  greatly  he  was  tempted.  I 
have  had  to  remember  this  in  judging  him.  No  doubt 
with  him,  as  with  many  another  man,  love  surprised 
him." 

"  That  may  be,"  she  replies  ;  "  but  had  he  not  time 
to  think?  Had  he  any  right,  any  excuse,  to  come  day 
after  day,  to  ride,  to  walk,  to  talk,  to  imply  all  and  more 
than  all  that  he  said  at  last  ?  It  is  not  his  fault  that  I 
am  not  the  most  miserable  woman  on  earth.     But  why 


13S  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

do  I  talk  of  it  ? "  she  breaks  off,  abruptly.  "  You  see 
there  is  nothing  to  be  said.  That  he  is  engaged  is  enough 
for  me.     I  do  not  wish  ever  to  hear  his  name  again." 

"But,"  says  Duncan,  watching  her  closely  as  he 
speaks,  "  it  is  possible  for  engagements  to  be  broken ; 
and  it  is  also  true,  as  he  has  suggested,  that  there  may  be 
more  honor  in  breaking  than  in  keeping  an  engagement, 
under  such  circumstances  as  these." 

"Has  he  suggested  that?"  she  asks,  the  color  flashing 
into  her  face  again.  "  Surely  he  does  not  think  that  it 
would  matter  to  me  if  his  engagement  were  broken  to- 
morrrow." 

"  He  did  not  venture  to  say  that  it  would  influence 
you,"  Duncan  answers.  "He  told  me  that  you  had  re- 
fused to  listen  to  his  love.  But  I — "  He  hesitates  a  mo- 
ment, then  goes  on,  speaking  a  little  more  quickly  than 
usual :  "  I  know  how  far  pride  can  steel  a  woman's  heart, 
even  against  the  man  she  loves.  So  I  have  come,  not  as 
his  advocate,  but  as  your  friend,  to  ask  you,  in  the  name 
of  our  old  friendship,  to  tell  me  the  truth,  and  give  me 
the  right  to  serve  you.  If  you  mean  exactly  what  you 
say  in  declaring  that  you  wish  never  to  hear  his  name 
again,  then  I  pledge  my  word  that  he  shall  go  away,  and 
that  you  never  shall  hear  it  again.  But  stop  and  think 
whether  you  do  mean  it.  If  you  care  for  him — as  it  is 
very  natural  that  you  should — don't  make  the  mistake  of 
sending  him  away  for  a  scruple  of  honor.  I  frankly  tell 
you  that  he  is  not  a  man  whom  I  should  select  as  the 
man  for  you  to  marry ;  but  if  he  is  the  man  you  love, 
you  must  decide  whether  or  not  you  will  trust  your  life 
to  him.  I  appeal  to  you  as  a  woman,  not  a  fanciful  girl, 
and  I  beg  you  to  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  my  desire  to 
secure  your  happiness." 


ROSLYX  DECIDES.  139 

"  Could  I  know  you  and  doubt  it  ? '  she  asks,  in  a 
low  voice.  The  serious  gravity  of  his  appeal  has  affected 
her  as  strongly  as  he  could  possibly  desire.  All  the  feel- 
ing that  has  filled  and  swayed  her  since  she  parted  with 
Laurent  seems  suddenly  calmed — whether  by  the  power 
of  the  voice  that  has  addressed  her,  or  by  the  weight 
of  responsibility  thrown  upon  her,  she  does  not  know. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  latter,  for  a  recognition  of  all  that  de- 
pends upon  her  reply  makes  passionate  haste  impossible. 
As  she  looks  at  him  he  sees  in  her  eyes — eyes  that  never 
seemed  to  him  so  beautiful  before — the  spirit  of  reason- 
ing womanhood  to  which  he  has  appealed. 

"  I  will  answer  you  as  you  deserve  that  I  should,  with 
perfect  candor,"  she  says.  "  You  ask  if  I  really  mean 
what  I  say  in  wishing  that  I  might  never  hear  Mr. 
Laurent's  name  again.  An  hour  ago  I  thought  so ;  but 
wounded  pride  and  indignation  had  so  much  to  do  with 
the  feeling,  that  perhaps  it  was  not  real.  What  I  feel 
now  is  that  whether  or  not  there  would  be  any  excuse 
for  his  conduct,  there  would  be  none  for  mine  if  I  list- 
ened to  the  suit  of  a  man  who  is  engaged  to  marry  an- 
other woman,  or  if  I  permitted  him  to  break  that  engage- 
ment in  order  that  I  might  listen  to  him.  You  talk  of 
a  scruple  of  honor — but  surely  that  is  more  than  a  scru- 
ple, if  there  be  such  a  thing  as  honor." 

"You  are  right,"  he  says,  "it  is  more  than  a  scruple ; 
it  is  a  very  grave  question  of  honor.  But  you  can  not 
blame  me  for  thinking  more  of  your  happiness  than  of 
anything  else." 

"  Yes,  I  blame  you,"  she  answers,  "  because  you  ought 
to  judge  for  me  as  you  would  for  yourself  ;  and  what 
have  I  ever  done  that  you  should  think  so  much  of  my 
happiness  ? " 


140  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Never  mind  about  that,"  he  says.  "  If  I  choose  to 
make  your  happiness  my  care,  that  only  concerns  myself. 
What  I  desire  to  know  is,  how  best  to  serve  you.  I  see 
the  situation — your  heart  is  on  one  side,  your  pride,  your 
conscience  on  the  other.  How  to  reconcile  them  is  the 
question." 

He  rises,  walks  across  the  floor  to  a  window,  and 
stands  there  for  a  minute  looking  out,  though  evidently 
seeing  no  feature  of  the  prospect  before  him.  Roslyn 
sits  motionless  and  silent.  Once  she  uncloses  her  lips  to 
speak,  but  closes  them  again  without  uttering  a  sound. 
What  can  she  say  ?  Has  he  not  stated  the  matter  truly  ? 
If  she  contradicts  him,  how  can  she  state  it  better  ? 

"  Please  do  not  talk  of  it  any  more,"  she  says,  with 
child-like  simplicity  of  manner,  when  he  again  resumes 
his  seat  near  her.  "  I  only  want  to  be  let  alone.  I  came 
here  in  order  that  I  might  not  see  him  again.  If  I  am 
foolish  enough  to  care  anything  about  him,  I  do  assure 
you  that  I  am  at  the  same  time  wise  enough  and  honest 
enough  to  despise  myself  for  doing  so.  All  is  said  in 
the  fact  that  he  is  engaged.  I  will  not  hear  anything 
beyond  that." 

"  But  if  he  were  free — pardon  me  that  I  must  ask 
this — if  he  were  free,  would  you  forgive  him  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ? '  she  says,  shrinking  away  from 
the  directness  of  the  question  ;  and  turning  her  face  so 
that  he  could  not  see  it,  she  gazed  straight  out  of  the 
window  with  eyes  as  unheeding  the  green  beauty  they 
rest  upon  as  his  had  been  just  before.  "  I  will  not  en- 
tertain the  thought  of  his  breaking  his  engagement ;  and 
I  beg  you  to  let  him  know  that  it  would  be  useless  for 
him  to  do  so,"  she  goes  on.  "He  can  not  mend  one  dis- 
honor by  another,  and  you  are  the  last,  the  very  last,  per- 


HOSLTX  DECIDES.  141 

son  in  the  world  who  I  should  have  thought  would  be 
the  advocate  of  such  a  thing." 

"  I  am  not  the  advocate  of  it,"  he  answers.  "  You 
mistake  me  entirely  if  you  think  so.  But  engagements 
are  often  broken — indeed,  they  seem  very  much  made  to 
be  broken  at  the  present  time — and  I  confess  that  I  am 
thinking  much  more  of  your  happiness  than  of  Laurent's 
honor." 

"  But  it  is  my  honor  as  well  as  his  that  is  concerned," 
she  says.  "  What  should  I  be  if  I  listened  to  him  now 
while  his  engagement  exists,  or  if  I  suffered  him  to  break 
it  in  the  hope  that  I  would  listen  to  him  then  f  Do  you 
think  that  I  do  not  know  and  feel  how  generous,  how 
more  than  generous,  you  are  ?  "  she  says,  turning  toward 
him  with  eyes  full  of  unshed  tears.  "  But  you  think  too 
much,  far  too  much,  of  me — and  indeed  there  is  no  need 
for  you  to  consider  this  affair  so  gravely.  I  do  not  look 
as  if  my  heart  were  breaking,  do  I  ? " 

If  the  smile  with  which  she  says  this  is  brave,  it  is 
also  tremulous.  And  the  man  before  her — the  man  who 
would  give  his  heart's  blood  to  serve  her — feels  that  he  is 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  know  how  that  service  shall  be  ren- 
dered. He  hesitates  an  instant,  gazing  at  the  bright  face 
which  is  now  overshadowed  by  the  change  so  intangible, 
vet  so  marked,  which  had  struck  both  Mrs.  Arden  and 
himself,  and  then  takes  her  hands  abruptly. 

"  You  have  fenced  me  off,"  he  says ;  "  you  have  not 
spoken  the  whole  truth  to  me !  How  can  I  appeal  to 
you  more  strongly  and  directly  ? — how  can  I  persuade 
you  to  be  perfectly  frank  and  trustful  ?  I  can  only  say, 
Roslyn,  that  I  think  I  deserve  your  trust ;  I  can  only 
implore  you  to  give  it  to  me!  Tell  me  if  you  love  this 
man  so  that  his  going  will  make  you  miserable,  so  that 


142  EOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

his  staying — if  he  could  stay  with  honor — would  make 
you  happy  ? " 

He  speaks  with  such  passionate  earnestness,  that  Kos- 
lyn's  tears  are  ready  to  overflow,  and  there  is  a  choking 
sob  in  her  throat  which  she  can  scarcely  swallow.  But 
she  makes  a  great  effort  and  does  swallow  it,  and  force 
herself  to  speak  calmly. 

"  There  is  no  such  if"  she  answers,  "  no  such  possi- 
bility— and  if  there  were,  how  do  I  know  that  it  would 
make  me  happy  %  I  do  not  know ;  so  I  beg  you  to  do 
nothing  in  my  behalf.  Let  him  go  —  make  him  go ! 
That  is  all  1  can  say." 

She  sinks  back  in  her  chair  as  she  ceases  speaking, 
and  looks  so  suddenly  pale,  that  he  sees  it  will  not  do  to 
press  her  further — even  if  further  insistence  would  be 
likely  to  tell  him  more  than  he  has  learned  already — and 
this  he  doubts.  So  he  takes  her  hand  again — this  time 
with  a  gentle  friendliness. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  says,  "  you  must  forgive  me  for 
tormenting  you  in  this  way.  But  remember  how  you 
have  been  our  pet,  how  we  have  wanted  to  keep  you  al- 
ways bright  and  glad,  and  how  little  I  at  least  like  to  be 
baffled  by  the  fate  that  has  brought  this  cloud  upon  you. 
I  feel,  too,  that  it  is  my  fault ;  that  I  am  accountable  and 
responsible — and  hence  I  have  endeavored  to  see  if  it 
could  not  be  taken  away.  I  thought  you  might  be  like 
other  girls — that  love  and  its  gratification  might  be  all 
in  all  to  you  ;  but  I  see,  and  I  am  proud  to  see,  that  you 
think  more  of  honor  than  of  love,  and  would  rather  suf- 
fer than  be  happy  unworthily.  You  leave  me,  therefore, 
nothing  to  say  but  God  bless  you,  and  good-by  !  " 

He  goes  without  another  word,  and,  before  the  echo 
of  his  footstep  has  died  away,  Roslyn's  shield  of  bravery 


ROSLYN  DECIDES.  US 

and  pride  is  gone,  and  she  is  sobbing  like  a  heart-broken 
child.  Hardly  until  this  moment  has  she  realized  what 
has  been  offered  her,  and  now  the  realization  comes  with 
the  sense  of  final  loss.  She  feels  perfectly  assured  that, 
had  she  uttered  a  word  expressive  of  her  desire  that  Lau- 
rent should  remain,  Duncan  wrould  have  smoothed  mat- 
ters to  that  end — and  the  temptation  was  not  so  sharp 
when  it  was  offered,  as  now  when  it  is  passed.  We  are 
doubtful  of  the  value  of  many  a  thing  while  we  hold  it, 
which  seems  to  us  absolutely  good  after  it  has  escaped 
from  our  grasp. 

Before  her  passion  of  grief  has  quite  exhausted  itself, 
Mrs.  Arden  comes  in — knowing  that  Colonel  Duncan  is 
gone — and  great  is  her  astonishment  at  the  scene  before 
her ;  for  the  matter  had  seemed  to  her  very  simple.  If 
Boslyn  cares  for  the  man,  she  has  but  to  say  so,  and,  with 
an  unexampled  generosity,  Colonel  Duncan  is  ready  to 
play  the  part  of  fairy  god-father  and  bring  the  affair  to  a 
happy  conclusion.  If  she  does  not  care  for  him,  she  has 
also  but  to  say  so,  and  the  matter  is  at  an  end ;  in  either 
case  Mrs.  Arden  fails  to  perceive  any  need  for  tears. 
And  here  is  Roslyn,  lying  prone  on  the  sofa,  her  face 
buried  in  a  cushion,  her  lovely  hair  all  disordered,  and  her 
whole  form  shaken  with  convulsive  weeping ! 

The  intruder  upon  this  storm  of  grief — for  such  Mrs. 
Arden  feels  herself  to  be,  for  an  instant — pauses  and  re- 
gards, with  mingled  distress  and  amazement,  the  prostrate 
figure  before  her — hesitating  whether  to  advance  or  re- 
treat. But,  after  a  moment's  indecision,  she  yields  to  her 
impulse,  and,  going  forward,  puts  a  kindly  arm  around 
the  girl's  shrinking  form. 

"  My  darling,"  she  says,  "  how  sorry  I  am  to  see  you 
so  much  distressed.    Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 


144  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  answers  Roslyn,  battling  with  her 
sobs,  and  choking  them  down  ;  "  I  am  a  fool,  aunty — a 
fool ! — and  you  ought  to  despise  me  !  " 

"  Why,  my  dear  ? "  asks  Mrs.  Arden ;  and,  seized  with 
sudden  uneasiness,  she  adds,  gravely,  "  Are  you  going  to 
marry  Mr.-  Laurent,  Roslyn  ? " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  would  despise  me  if  I  were  ? " 
asks  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Arden  does  not  answer  at  once ;  she  looks  at  her 
niece  apprehensively,  restraining  the  inclination  she  feels 
to  answer  the  question  just  proposed  strongly  in  the  af- 
firmative— for  she  does  not  understand  how  anybody,  with 
a  due  sense  of  honor,  could  think  for  a  moment  of  over- 
looking the  breach  of  honor  which  Laurent  has  commit- 
ted. Hot  words  were  quivering  on  her  lips ;  but  she  is 
old  enough  to  have  learned  that  violence  is  much  more 
likely  to  injure  than  to  help  a  cause — particularly  in  a 
case  of  this  kind.  She  speaks  quietly,  therefore,  but 
there  is  an  unconscious  inflection  of  coldness  in  her  voice, 
which  is  very  perceptible  to  her  hearer. 

"  I  confess,  my  dear,  that  I  should  be  very  sorry  to 
see  you  do  anything  which,  I  am  convinced,  would  make 
you  miserable  for  life." 

Roslyn  smiles  bitterly,  as  she  pushes  back  the  damp 
tendrils  of  hair  that  are  clinging  to  her  brow  and  cheeks, 
and  looks  up. 

"  You  will  not  be  called  upon  to  despise  me,  or  to  be 
sorry  for  me,  either,  Aunt  Lavinia,"  she  says — "  at  least, 
for  this  reason.  1  have  some  sense  of  honor.  He  is  en- 
gaged to  another  woman,  and  I  have  told  Colonel  Dun- 
can that  I  will  not  suffer  him  to  break  the  engagement 
for  me." 

"  Thank  God  !  "  says  Mrs.  Arden — and  she  kisses  the 


COLONEL  DUNCAN  MAKES  A  MISTAKE.      145 

tear-stained  victor,  adding,  "You  are  right — and  some 
day,  my  dear,  some  day,  you  will  be  as  glad,  as  I  am  now, 
that  you  have  come  to  this  decision." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

COLONEL    DUNCAN   MAKES    A    MISTAKE. 

When  Colonel  Duncan  returns  to  Clitlton,  to  find 
Laurent  comfortably  established  in  a  cool,  shaded  room, 
smoking  cigarettes  and  reading  newspapers  with  a  tran- 
quil air,  it  is  natural  that  irritation  should  be  his  first  and 
predominant  sensation.  On  account  of  the  conduct  of 
this  man,  he  has  not  only  been  taking  trouble  and  discom- 
fort upon  himself,  but,  what  is  far  worse,  he  has  just 
seen  marks  of  suffering  on  the  face  he  loves  best — the 
face  he  had  so  fondly  and  vainly  hoped  to  keep  ever 
without  a  shadow ;  and  now  he  comes  from  that  painful 
interview  to  find  the  culprit,  the  sole  cause  and  occasion 
of  it,  apparently  without  concern  or  remorse — a  picture, 
as  he  lies  at  ease,  of  sybaritic  self-indulgence ! 

It  is  no  wonder  that  his  heavy  brows  contract,  and 
that,  when  Laurent  glances  up,  he  sees  a  stern  as  well  as 
a  heat-flushed  face.  But  as  he  quietly  swings  his  legs  to 
the  floor,  and  from  a  recumbent  assumes  a  sitting  posture, 
his  own  manner  remains  as  unruffled  as  before. 

"I  have  been  expecting  you  for  some  time,"  he  says. 
"  I  suppose,  however,  that  you  have  been  to  Verdevale — 
and,  as  I  can  testify,  that  is  rather  a  difficult  place  to  tear 
one's  self  away  from." 
7 


146  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"I  have  been  to  Verdevale,  yes — but  not  all  the 
time,"  answers  Colonel  Duncan.  "After  leaving  Verde- 
vale,  I  went  to  Kirton  and  paid  a  visit.  Miss  Vardray  is 
there."  ^ 

"  Indeed  !     With  wh*om  ? " 

"  With  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Arden,  who  lives  in  that  place. 
I  tell  you  of  her  whereabout,  because  she  has  gone  there 
to  avoid  any  possible  chance  of  seeing  you  again — such  a 
chance  as  she  thought  might  occur  at  Verdevale." 

"  Thanks  ;  you  are  very  kind,"  says  Laurent,  quietly. 
"  But  may  I  ask  why  Miss  Yardray  thinks  it  necessary  to 
resort  to  such  extreme  measures  to  avoid  me  ?  I  have 
certainly  not  evinced  any  intention  of  troubling  her." 

"Did  you  have  no  such  intention?"  asks  Duncan, 
looking  at  him  keenly.  "Not,  however,  that  you  are  to 
imagine  that  she  anticipated  or  feared  anything  of  the 
kind.  She  only  thought  it  probable  you  might  be  at 
Yerdevale,  and  that  for  her  to  avoid  seeing  you  there 
would  excite  attention;  so  she  went  to  Kirton,  where  there 
would  be  no  difficulty." 

"  It  was  very  considerate  of  her,"  says  Laurent.  "  But, 
since  I  am  on  the  point  of  taking  my  departure,  she  need 
not  have  given  herself  that  trouble." 

"  It  is  certainly  well  that  you  should  go,"  says  Dun- 
can, promptly,  "  and  I  was  about  to  suggest  as  much.  I 
mentioned,  last  night,  that  my  friend  Mr.  North  has 
kindly  agreed  to  give  you  a  place  and  a  trial ;  so  that  it  is 
best  you  should  go  to  him  at  once." 

"  Yes,"  says  Laurent,  in  a  meditative  tone.  He  looks 
down  at  the  cigarette  which  he  is  rolling  between  his  fin- 
gers, while  he  speaks,  and  he  is  asking  himself  what  it  is 
best  that  he  should  do.  Of  really  putting  his  shoulder  to 
the  wheel  and  accepting  distasteful  work,  he  has  never 


COLOXEL  DUNCAN  MAKES  A  MISTAKE.       l±j 

had  the  least  serious  idea,  though  it  served  his  purpose 
very  well  to  allow  Duncan  to  believe  that  he  had.  And 
if,  in  consequence  of  this  belief,  that  gentleman  chose  to 
take  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  that  surely  was  his  own  affair 
altogether,  and  did  not  bind  him  (Laurent)  to  anything 
at  all.  Shall  he  now  quietly  announce  that  he  has  no  in- 
tention of  troubling  Mr.  North,  or  shall  he  make  a  feint 
of  accepting  the  offered  situation,  in  order  to  propitiate 
Duncan  ?  In  the  latter  case,  what  is  to  be  gained  by 
such  propitiation  ?  These  are  the  questions  he  asks  him- 
self as  he  deliberately  lights  his  cigarette.  At  length  he 
savs : 

"  AVe  will  discuss  that  matter  presently.  Just  now 
I  should  like  to  know  something  more  about  Miss  Var- 
dray — for  example,  whether  she  could  not  be  induced  to 
see  me.  Don't  misunderstand  me!" — as  Duncan  starts 
angrily — "  I  should  only  like,  before  bidding  her  a  prob- 
ably final  adieu,  to  remove  an  erroneous  impression  from 
her  mind — the  impression,  apparently,  that  I  insulted  her 
by  telling  her  of  my  love." 

"  And  was  it  not  an  insult  to  have  told  her,  in  the 
same  breath  with  your  declaration,  that  you  were  engaged 
to  marry  another  woman  \ "  asks  Duncan,  hotly.  "  There 
may  be  women — no  doubt  there  are  women  and  to  spare 
— who  would  think  lightly  of  such  a  breach  of  honor, 
but  Hoslyn  Yardray  is  not  of  the  number.  I  was  sure  of 
that,  even  before  I  saw  her." 

"  And  you  have  been  made  more  sure  by  seeing  her, 
T  presume,"  says  Laurent,  calmly. 

"  Yes,"  Duncan  answers,  forgetting  prudence  in  in- 
dignation, "  if  you  wish  to  know  how  sure  I  have  been 
made,  I  will  tell  you — in  order  that  you  may  realize,  once 
for  all,  what  Roslyn  Yardray  is."     And  then  follows  a 


US  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

brief  recapitulation  of  his  own  resolve  to  secure  the  girl's 
happiness  at  any  cost,  and  of  Roslyn's  answer. 

Laurent  fairly  holds  his  breath  as  he  listens.  He  can 
hardly  believe  that  he  is  not  in  a  dream.  With  regard  to 
Duncan's  conduct,  his  sentiment  is  one  of  mingled  amaze- 
ment and  contempt.  Such  unparalleled  generosity  is  to 
him  only  unparalleled  folly.  But  what  a  prospect  it  opens 
for  him — the  positive  assurance  of  the  inheritance  of  Cliff- 
ton,  and  the  girl  who  has  captivated  his  fancy,  made  not 
only  possible,  but  desirable  as  his  bride,  by  the  rich  gift 
of  the  fortune  which  is  Duncan's  own !  Was  ever  mortal 
man  so  mad  before  ?  and  was  ever  mortal  man  so  favored 
by  luck,  surpassing  his  wildest  dreams?  He  can  hardly 
contain  himself ;  his  head  is  whirling  with  excitement, 
yet  he  controls  himself  sufficiently  to  realize  that  he  must 
not  let  Duncan  suspect  that  this  revelation  has  entirely 
changed  all  his  resolves  and  plans.  A  minute  before,  he 
had  been  satisfied  that  nothing  remained  for  him  but  to 
put  Roslyn  out  of  his  life,  and  rest  content  with  his  suc- 
cess in  diverting  her  heart  from  his  cousin.  JVov),  he 
says  to  himself,  that  all  is  clear  before  him,  and  that  he 
will  never  resign  the  hold  he  has  won  over  her. 

But  he  takes  good  care  not  to  betray  this  new  resolve 
to  Duncan.  To  the  latter  he  only  expresses,  after  a  min- 
ute or  two,  his  sense  of  the  wonderful  generosity  that 
prompted  the  offer  which  Roslyn  refused,  and  his  deep 
regret  that,  having  so  refused,  she  has  left  him  nothing  to 
do  but  to  go. 

"  For  that  is  of  course  what  it  comes  to,"  he  says. 
"  I  will  accept  what  your  kindness  has  provided,  and  go  to 
Mr.  North  at  once.  Work  is  said  to  help  one  to  a  good 
many  fine  results — forgetting,  among  the  rest.  I  will  see 
what  it  can  do  for  me." 


COL  OX  EL  DUNCAN  MAKES  A  MISTAKE.      119 

"  You  are  right,"  says  Duncan,  a  little  mollified  by 
tins.  "  I  hope  that  it  may  do  a  great  deal  for  you,  and 
you  should  not  delay  in  presenting  yourself  to  Mr. 
North." 

"  I  will  go  at  once  and  make  my  preparations  for  de- 
parture," says  Laurent,  glancing  at  his  watch. 

But,  although  he  leaves  the  room,  it  is  not  so  much 
to  make  his  preparations  for  departure  as  to  decide  what 
his  course  of  action  shall  be.  One  thing  is  plain — that, 
for  the  present,  at  least,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should 
go ;  but  he  determines  that  he  will  not  go  before  he  has 
seen  Roslyn.  lie  will  leave  Cliffton,  so  as  not  to  be 
under  the  surveillance  of  his  cousin,  but  he  will  remain 
in  Kirton  until,  by  one  means  or  another,  he  has  carried 
his  point,  until  he  has  seen  her  and  established  his  influ- 
ence on  a  surer  basis. 

He  does  not,  however,  think  it  necessary  to  announce 
this  resolution  to  Duncan;  but  he  does  decline  the  offer 
of  the  latter's  companionship  into  Kirton.  When,  with 
the  spirit  of  a  host  du  ancieii  regime,  Duncan  says,  "  Of 
course,  I  shall  drive  in  with  you,  and  see  you  off,"  the 
young  man  coolly  answers  : 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  not  do  anything  of  the  kind  ; 
for,  if  you  drive  into  Kirton,  it  will  only  be  to  say  good- 
by  to  me  at  the  hotel  instead  of  here.  I  shall  not  leave 
by  the  afternoon  train,  which  is  a  slow  one,  but  shall 
wait  for  the  midnight  express." 

u  Then  why  not  wait  here  ? '  asks  Duncan — though 
he  knows  very  well  what  purpose  the  excuse  of  the  mid- 
night express  covers. 

"To  give  you  the  trouble  of  sending  me  in  after 
nightfall?'  says  the  other,  carelessly.  "  No,  thanks — I 
shall  go  in  this  afternoon." 


150  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


Geoffrey's  good  offices. 


"When  Laurent,  on  his  way  into  Kirton,  calls  at  Verde- 
vale  to  make  Ms  adieus,  there  is  much  surprise  mani- 
fested, and  even  more  felt,  by  the  family.  Geoffrey,  in 
especial,  is  astonished  and  suspicious.  It  flashes  upon 
him,  with  the  force  of  an  instinctive  conviction,  that  there 
is  some  connection  between  Hoslyn's  going  to  Kirton, 
Colonel  Duncan's  return,  and  this  man's  departure.  He 
drove  Roslyn  into  town  himself;  and  he  remembers  now 
how  pale  and  preoccupied  she  looked.  Jealousy  suggests 
an  unworthy  thought  to  him  again,  and  he  wonders  if  she 
did  not  go  to  Kirton  in  order  to  meet  Laurent  there  be- 
fore his  departure — which  he  shrewdly  argues  to  have 
been  in  some  way  a  necessary  consequence  of  Colonel 
Duncan's  return. 

These  thoughts  are  strongly  in  his  mind  when,  Lau- 
rent's hurried  visit  over,  he  stands  on  the  veranda  watch- 
ing that  gentleman  drive  away,  and  debating  in  his  mind 
whether  he  will  not  ride  into  town  and  see  for  himself 
the  extent  of  Roslyn's  infatuation  and  duplicity.  He  is 
only  deterred  from  doing  so  by  a  feeling  that  to  act  the 
spy,  in  even  the  least  degree,  is  a  very  unworthy  part  to 
play.  It  is  impossible  to  say  how  his  indecision  would 
end,  did  not  a  slight  chance  determine  the  matter  for 
him.  While  he  still  stands  with  a  gloomy  brow,  saying 
to  himself — "  If  she  has  a  secret,  is  it  any  of  my  business 
to  pry  into  it?     No— I  will  not  interfere  and  act  like  a 


GEOFFREY'S  GOOD   OFFICES.  151 

sneak !  " — a  servant  on  horseback  rides  up  and  gives  two 
notes  to  him. 

One  is  for  himself  and  one  for  Roslyn,  and  both  are 
evidently  from  the  same  person.  He  opens  his  own,  and 
finds  that  it  is  an  invitation  to  an  informal  dance  that 
evening  at  the  house  of  a  young  lady  in  Kirton,  well 
known  to  them  both.  She  signs  herself,  "Your  old 
friend  Rose  Gilray";  and  never  before  has  Geoffrey  felt 
so  warmly  conscious  of  the  claims  of  old  friendship  be- 
tween himself  and  the  bearer  of  that  name.  Go?  Of 
course  he  will  go,  and  he  will  make  it  his  instant  duty  to 
carry  Miss  Gilray's  note  to  Roslyn,  and  persuade  her  to 
go  also.  The  excuse  he  wants  is  given  him,  and,  sending 
word  to  Miss  Gilray  that  he  will  report  to  her  in  an  hour, 
he  orders  his  horse  at  once. 

When  he  dismounts  at  Mrs.  Arden's  gate  and  w^alks 
up  to  the  door  of  the  house,  it  is  with  not  a  little  fear  of 
what  he  may  enter  upon.  He  almost  wishes  now  that  he 
had  not  come,  that  he  had  remained  away  until  certain 
that  Laurent  was  out  of  Kirton. 

"  How  like  a  spy  and  a  sneak  I  shall  feel  if  I  find  them 
together — as  no  doubt  I  shall ! "  he  thinks,  with  a  strong 
impulse  to  retreat.  It  is  too  late  for  retreat  now,  how- 
ever :  if  any  one  is  in  the  drawing-room,  he  must  have 
been  seen  from  one  of  the  windows ;  so  he  pulls  the  door- 
bell, and  hears  the  peal  ring  through  the  spacious,  silent 
house. 

Into  the  broad  hall  with  its  waxed  floor,  its  old  claw- 
footed  furniture,  and  pleasant  lounging-chairs,  comes  a 
neatly  dressed  maid,  who  says  : 

"Walk  in,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  and  Pll  go  up  and  tell 
Miss  Roslvn  you're  here.      I  don't  expect  she's  awake 

yet." 


152  EOSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  What ! "  says  Geoffrey,  so  much  surprised  that  he 
forgets  to  be  relieved,  "  isn't  she  down  ? " 

The  girl  looks  at  him,  in  turn,  surprised.  What  is  he 
thinking  of,  to  imagine  that  a  young  lady  is  likely  to  be 
down  from  her  siesta  with  the  sun  two  hours  high  ! 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  she  says,  in  a  tone  of  rebuke.  "  But 
I'll  let  her  know  that  you  are  here." 

She  goes  away  up  the  wide,  shallow  staircase,  and 
Geoffrey,  sitting  down  in  one  of  the  inviting  chairs,  re- 
volves the  situation  in  his  mind.  Has  Laurent  been  here 
and  gone  ?  Clearly  not,  for  it  has  been  too  short  a  time 
since  he  left  Yerdevale  for  that.  Has  he  an  appointment 
yet  to  come  ?  Hardly  possible,  or  Eoslyn  would  surely 
be  ready  to  receive  him,  knowing  that  railroad  trains,  like 
time  and  tide,  wait  for  no  man.  But  can  it  be  that  he 
will  go  away  without  bidding  her  farewell  at  all  ?  Such 
a  proceeding  can  have  only  one  meaning,  the  young  man 
feels,  and  that  he  is  not  prepared  to  credit.  Altogether 
the  mystery  puzzles  him,  and  when  a  clock  suddenly 
chimes  out  on  the  stillness,  striking  the  hour,  he  starts, 
for  the  distant  whistle  of  a  railroad  train  answers  it,  and 
he  says  to  himself  that  Laurent  is  off. 

"Roslyn  must  have  known  that  he  is  going,  and 
she  must  have  come  here  to  avoid  him,"  is  Geoffrey's 
next  thought  as  he  sits  patiently  wraiting.  "What  the 
deuce  does  it  all  mean  %  Only  yesterday  she  talked  of 
him  in  a  wTay  that  showed  she  was  very  near  caring  for 
him.  What  has  happened  since  then  ?  I  am  not  a  curi- 
ous fellow,  as  a  general  rule  ;  but  I  should  like  to  under- 
stand this." 

No  explanation  comes,  while  half  an  hour  wears  away 
in  drowsy  silence  ;  then  a  door  opens  and  closes  again  in 
the  upper  regions  of  the  house ;  a  pair  of  high  heels  and 


GEOFFREY'S  GOOD   OFFICES.  153 

a  trailing  dress  are  heard,  and  around  the  bend  of  the 
staircase  Roslyn  comes  into  view,  prettily  dressed  and 
smiling — only  a  slight  heaviness  about  the  eyes  (which 
might  pass  for  the  effect  of  an  interrupted  siesta),  making 
any  difference  from  her  ordinary  appearance. 

"  Geoff,  what  do  you  mean  by  disturbing  one  at  such 
an  hour  as  this  ? "  she  exclaims.  "  Have  you  come  to  pay 
me  a  visit  because  I  happen  to  be  away  from  home  for  a 
day  ?  Of  course,  I  should  be  glad  to  see  you  at  a  reason- 
able hour ;  but  to  rouse  one  in  the  middle  of  a  warm  after- 
noon is  so  provoking." 

Her  petulance  pleases  rather  than  annoys  Geoffrey,  for 
he  thinks,  reasonably  enough,  that  she  would  hardly  speak 
so  if  his  coming  were  seriously  disagreeable  to  her. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you,"  he  says.  "  It  is 
true  that  I  might  have  sent  this  note  to  you,  but  I  brought 
it,  because  I  wanted  to  take  your  answer  with  my  own  to 
Miss  Eose." 

He  gives  her  Miss  Gilray's  note,  and  watches  her  as 
she  reads  it.  No  flush  of  anticipated  pleasure  comes  to 
her  face,  no  light  to  her  eyes.  When  she  reaches  the 
end,  she  looks  up  and  says,  quietly : 

"  I  am  sorry  you  took  the  trouble  to  come  just  for  this. 
I  don't  care  to  go." 

"  Not  go  !  "  he  exclaims.     "  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I  don't  care  to.     Isn't  that  reason  enough  ? ' 

"  No,"  he  answers,  "  I  don't  think  it  is.  Miss  Rose 
will  certainly  expect  a  better  one.  And  your  not  going 
will  be  all  the  more  remarkable  from  your  being  in  town. 
What  possible  excuse  can  you  give?  You  know  they 
count — that  everybody  counts — on  you." 

She  makes  a  gesture  of  indifference. 

"Let  them,"  she  says.     " There  is  no  reason  why  I 


154  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

should  constrain  myself  to  do  what  I  don't  want  to  do, 
merely  because  people  expect  it  of  me.  Geoffrey,  please 
don't  worry  me.     I  will  not  go." 

Geoffrey's  face  grows  dark.  He  knows  what  this 
means,  and,  looking  steadily  at  the  countenance  before 
him  now,  he  sees  that  some  of  its  bloom  is  gone,  and 
that  the  heaviness  of  her  eyes  may  be  the  result  of  weep- 
ing. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  worry  you,"  he  says,  "  but  I  am  bound 
to  tell  you  that  very  disagreeable  things  will  be  said  of 
you  if  you  decline  this  invitation  without  being  able  to 
give  any  good  excuse  for  doing  so.  It  will  be  known  that 
you  are  in  town,  it  will  be  remembered  that  you  have 
never  failed  to  appear  on  such  an  occasion  before,  and,  of 
course,  people  will  draw  an  inference — an  inference  that 
may  or  may  not  be  true,  but  that,  in  your  place,  I  should 
dislike  for  them  to  draw." 

Her  eyes  kindle  as  she  meets  his  gaze,  and  she  lifts 
her  slender  neck  with  the  air  of  pride  that  on  rare  occa- 
sions belongs  to  her. 

"  I  do  not,  in  the  least,  understand  what  inference  you 
mean,"  she  says,  coldly. 

"Do  you  not?  Then  I  must  remind  you  that  Mr. 
Laurent  left  this  afternoon,  and  I  am  sure  I  need  not 
point  out  what  connection  people  will  find  between  that 
and  your  refusal  to  go  to  a  dance." 

Despite  her  utmost  power  of  self-control,  she  can  not 
prevent  a  change  of  countenance  which  tells  him  that  his 
news  is  news  to  her,  but,  for  the  rest,  she  has  herself  well 
in  hand,  and  bears  the  ordeal  gallantly. 

"  Has  he  gone ? "  she  says.  "I  did  not  know  that  he 
— was  leaving  so  soon.     Are  you  certain  ? " 

"  He  was  at  Yerdevale  an  hour  or  two  ago  on  his  way 


GEOFFREY'S  GOOD   OFFICES.  155 

to  take  the  train  in  Kirton,  bade  everybody  good-by,  and 
left  a  message  with  my  mother  for  you,"  answers  Geof- 
frey. "  That  is  all  I  know.  I  suppose  he  has  gone.  His 
trunk  was  along,  and  Colonel  Duncan  wasnH? 

He  regards  her  keenly,  as  he  utters  the  last  words ; 
but  her  face  does  not  betray  her  further.  She  only  looks 
down  nervously,  closing  and  unclosing  the  fan  she  holds. 

"  You  see  how  the  matter  stands,"  the  young  man 
goes  on,  stiffly.  "  Your  name  has  been  very  much  coup- 
led with  his  lately,  and  people  will  say — well,  you  can 
imagine  what  they  will  say.  Of  course,  it  is  nothing  to 
me  whether  you  go  to  the  dance  or  not — further  than  that 
I  should  be  sorry  for  you  to  be  the  theme  of  such  gossip 
as  I  know  will  be  the  result  of  your  not  going.  You 
must  decide,  however." 

There  is  a  moment's  pause.  A  breeze,  blowing  lightly 
through  the  hail,  brings  a  fragrance  of  roses  and  jasmine 
with  it  from  the  garden  behind  the  house ;  the  clock 
ticks ;  the  sunshine  streams  on  an  old  engraving  of  the 
"  Death  of  Montgomery  "  ;  and  Geoffrey  has  no  instinct  of 
what  cause  he  is  pleading — for  whom  he  has  won — when 
Roslyn,  looking  up  presently,  says  : 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  any  such  result  would  follow 
my  not  going  to  a  stupid  party  in  this  warm  weather ;  but 
since  you  have  thought  fit  to  say  such  things  to  me,  per- 
haps somebody  else  may  be  found  foolish  and  ill-natured 
enough  to  say  them  of  me ;  and  so  I  will  go." 


156  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


midsummer-night's  dream. 


Fortunately  for  Geoffrey's  peace  of  mind,  lie  lias  no 
intuition  of  how  Miss  Gilray  is  engaged  when  he  calls  at 
her  door  half  an  hour  later,  and  is  informed  that  she  is 
out.  He  scribbles  a  few  lines  on  his  card  accepting  her 
invitation,  and  then  continues  his  way  out  of  town ;  for 
he  is  charged  with  the  important  commission  of  having  an 
evening  dress  sent  to  Poslyn. 

The  young  lady  whom  he  has  failed  to  see  is  not  very 
far  away.  A  few  squares  distant,  her  pony  phaeton  is 
drawn  up  close  to  the  sidewalk,  and  she  is  talking  eagerly 
to  a  gentleman,  who  is  no  less  a  person  than  Mr.  Laurent. 
She  was  driving  rapidly  down  the  street  when  she  saw 
him  sauntering  under  the  trees,  with  the  low  sunlight 
streaming  on  his  handsome  face  and  figure ;  and  having 
met  him  once  or  twice  during  the  past  few  weeks,  at 
Verde  vale,  she  instantly  conceives  the  idea  of  securing 
him  for  her  evening's  entertainment.  It  is  the  work  of 
an  instant  to  utter  his  name  and  draw  up  her  carriage  by 
the  spot  where  he  pauses. 

"How  fortunate  that  I  should  meet  you,  Mr.  Lau- 
rent !  "  she  says,  eagerly.  "  I  was  just  thinking  of  send- 
ing a  note  to  Cliffton,  asking  if  you  will  not  come  to  a 
little  dance  at  our  house  this  evening.  Pray,  don't  say 
no,  for  in  that  case  I  shall  feel  sure  that  you  scorn  any- 
thing like  village  festivity." 

"You   are  very  kind,    Miss    Gilray,"    says   Laurent, 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM.  157 

"and  nothing  would  give  me  more  pleasure  than  to  ac- 
cept your  invitation,  if  I  were  not  intending  to  leave  Kir- 
ton  to-night." 

"But  why  should  you  leave  it — at  least  until  late — and 
I  believe  there  is  a  moon  ?  You  only  mean  that  you  are 
going  out  to  Cliffton,  do  you  not  \ " 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  my  meaning  is,  I  am  going  to 
much  more  remote  regions.  I  leave  on  the  midnight  ex- 
press." 

"  Oh,  but  donH  leave ! "  says  the  young  lady,  plead- 
ingly. "Is  there  any  very  particular  reason  why  you 
should  ?  Can  you  not  stay  until  to-morrow  ?  Can  I  offer 
you  no  inducement  to  stay  ?  Not  even  a  dance  with  Ros- 
lyn  \ " 

Few  things  could  have  been  more  distasteful  to  Lau- 
rent than  is  the  arch  expression  which  accompanies  the 
last  words ;  but  they  suggest  a  thought  to  him.  He  is 
really  yet  undecided  whether  or  not  to  leave  on  the  mid- 
night train ;  and  also  wholly  undecided  whether  or  not  to 
make  any  attempt  to  see  Roslyn  before  lie  goes.  He  was 
debating  this  question  mentally,  when  Miss  Gilray  stopped 
him  ;  and  now  her  words  suggest  to  him  a  solution  of  it. 
By  yielding  to  her  request,  he  provides  himself  with  an 
excuse  for  not  leaving ;  and  although  he  entertains  little 
hope  that  he  will  see  Roslyn,  there  is  a  shadow  of  a 
chance  that  he  may  do  so,  and  have  an  opportunity,  not 
of  his  own  making,  for  speech  with  her.  These  reflec- 
tions pass  swiftly  through  his  mind  before  he  answers : 

"  You  tempt  me  very  much ;  and  since  there  is  no 
pressing  reason  for  my  going  to-night,  I  think  I  will  de- 
fer my  departure  in  order  to  accept  your  invitation.  It 
will  be  a  pleasant  memory  to  carry  away,  as  a  close  to  my 
very  pleasant  visit  to  this  part  of  the  country." 


158  ROSLYN' 8  FORTUNE. 

Miss  Gilray  is  delighted,  and  expresses  her  delight 
frankly.  Then,  urging  upon  him  that  he  must  not  change 
his  mind,  that  he  must  not  fail  her  on  any  account  what- 
ever, she  drives  away,  charmed  with  herself  and  her 
capability  to  grasp  an  opportunity. 

Whether  or  not  Roslyn  is  charmed  with  the  result  of 
this  capability,  when  she  hears  of  it,  is  quite  another 
thing. 

"  So  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear,"  says  Miss  Gilray, 
meeting  her  effusively.  "  I  have  a  pleasant  surprise  for 
you.  By  the  most  delightful  accident  I  met  Mr.  Laurent 
on  the  street  this  evening,  and  induced  him  to  delay  his 
departure — of  course,  you  know  that  he  was  intending  to 
leave  on  the  midnight  express — in  order  to  be  here  to- 
night. Are  you  not  heart-broken  at  the  thought  of  his 
going?     I  am  sure  I  should  be,  if  he  were  my  admirer." 

Roslyn  puts  up  her  lip  and  her  shoulder  with  pretty 
carelessness.  Her  start  had  been  too  slight  to  be  noticed, 
and  she  is  buttoning  her  glove,  so  that  her  eyes  do  not 
betray  her. 

"  Heart-broken ! "  she  says.  "  That  is  very  likely.  Of 
course,  I  am  sorry  Mr.  Laurent  is  going ;  but  somebody 
else  will  take  his  place — or,  if  not,  we  shall  manage  to  ex- 
ist without  him.  '  Men  may  come  and  men  may  go' — and 
it  isn't  worth  while  to  mourn  over  their  coming  or  go- 
ing." Then,  walking  to  a  mirror  to  scrutinize  herself, 
"How  do  I  look  to-night,  Rose?"  she  asks.  "Without 
flattery,  mind.  I  ask,  because  I  have  not  been  very  well 
to-day." 

"  I  never  saw  you  looking  better,"  replies  Miss  Gil- 
ray, with  emphasis.     "  Your  dress  is  so  very  becoming." 

"  I  sent  for  it  because  it  is  the  most  becoming  dress  I 
have,"  says  Roslyn,  looking  at  herself  approvingly.    Glad 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM.  159 

is  she  that  she  did  send  for  her  prettiest  toilet ;  that  she 
did  rub  the  color  into  her  cheeks,  and  summon  light  to 
the  eyes  that  look  back  at  her  from  the  mirror.  Her  ob- 
ject was  that  nobody  should  be  able  to  say  that  she  is 
mourning  for  Laurent ;  but  now  that  she  hears  he  is  him- 
self to  be  present,  she  is  doubly  determined  to  look  her 
best,  to  seem  her  brightest.  "  He  shall  know  that  I  was 
under  the  impression  that  he  was  gone,"  she  thinks,  with 
a  sense  of  cordial  gratitude  to  Geoffrey  for  having  made 
her  come. 

Geoffrey,  who  is  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case waiting  for  her  in  rather  a  dejected  mood — for  up  to 
this  time  he  has  not  been  forgiven,  but  has  been  treated 
with  an  appalling  dignity  and  reserve — is  altogether  sur- 
prised by  the  tone  of  her  voice  when  she  comes  down 
and  lays  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  You  have  not  asked  for  the  first  dance,  Geoff,"  she 
says,  "  but  I  suppose  you  want  it,  don't  you  ? ' 

"I  should  think  so,  indeed!'1  he  answers,  quickly. 
"  There  has  been  a  set  or  two  danced  already — we  are 
rather  late,  you  know — and  there  is  a  waltz  just  com- 
menced.    Come ! " 

The  next  moment  they  are  in  the  room,  his  arm  is 
round  her  lissome  waist,  and  they  are  circling  over  the 
polished  floor  to  the  strains  of  "The  Thousand  and  One 
Nights." 

They  have  waltzed  together  so  often,  they  know  each 
other's  step  so  well,  and  the  delight  of  both  is  so  great  in 
the  exercise,  that  fatigue  is  impossible  to  either ;  and  so, 
when  Laurent  arrives,  some  time  later,  the  first  sight 
that  meets  his  eye  is  Roslyn's  flushed,  radiant  face  over 
Geoffrey's  shoulder,  as  she  is  borne  round  and  round  in 
the  swift,  intoxicating  whirl. 


160  EOSLYJSf'S  FORTUNE. 

What  a  shock  that  sight  conveys  to  his  self-love,  it  is 
difficult  to  express.  "  She  thinks  that  I  have  gone — gone, 
too,  without  a  word  of  farewell ;  and  this  is  how  much  she 
cares  !  "  he  thinks.  "  Is  it  possible  that  I  have  been  the 
sport  of  a  heartless  flirt?  What  a  consummate  fool  I 
have  been !  Why,  from  present  appearances,  she  may 
very  likely  marry  Duncan  to-morrow — and  I  will  have 
gained  nothing  at  all !     By  Jove,  she  has  a  steady  head  !  " 

This  tribute  of  admiration  is  involuntarily  wrung 
from  him  by  the  recollection  of  how  many  women,  in  the 
coarse  of  his  extensive  experience,  have  proved  to  have 
had  the  reverse  of  steady  heads  where  he  has  been  con- 
cerned. And  this  girl  could  be  subjected  to  all  the  dan- 
gerous fascination  of  his  society,  could  hear  his  declaration 
of  passion,  and  then,  with  blooming  cheeks  and  laughing 
eyes,  can  dance  on  the  night  of  his  departure !  As  he 
watches  her,  as  his  gaze  follows  the  graceful  figure,  the 
flower-decked  head,  he  is  torn  by  so  many  conflicting 
feelings  that  he  can  scarcely  reply  to  the  remarks  of  his 
hostess.  Mortified  vanity,  anger,  admiration,  love  stimu- 
lated to  resolve,  all  these  emotions  occupy  his  mind,  and 
distract  his  attention  from  everything  but  the  observation 
of  the  brilliant  creature  who  flashes  past  him  again  and 
again,  all  unconscious,  seemingly,  of  his  presence.  It  is 
with  him  the  old,  old  story  of  his  sex — that  which  is  given 
loses  its  value ;  while  that  which  is  beyond  reach  seems 
priceless. 

What  Geoffrey's  sentiments  are  when,  having  at  last 
placed  Roslyn  in  a  seat,  he  stands  fanning  her,  and  chanc- 
ing to  glance  across  the  room,  suddenly  perceives  the  well- 
known  face  of  the  man  whom  he  fancied  to  be  many 
leagues  away  by  this  time,  it  would  be  vain  to  say.  A 
cloud  comes  over  the  whole  gay  scene  to  him,  and,  with  a 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  BREAM.  161 

change  of  voice  which  would  in  itself  tell  Roslyn  what  is 
the  matter,  he  Bays  : 

"  Why,  yonder  is  Laurent !  Did  you  expect  to  see 
him  here  i " 

';  Is  it  probable  that  I  did  ? "  she  asks,  quietly,  "  when 
you  told  me  this  afternoon  that  he  was  gone." 

"I  told  you  what  he  said — that  he  was  going,  that 

16. 

"  And  I  had  no  reason  to  doubt  it.  I  was  quite  sur- 
prised when  Rose  told  me,  as  she  went  up  to  the  dressing- 
room  with  me,  that  she  met  him  this  afternoon  and  per- 
suaded him  to  remain  for  the  evening." 

"  He  was  not  hard  to  be  persuaded,  I  imagine,"  says 
Geoffrey,  with  intense  bitterness  of  feeling,  and  not  a  lit- 
tle bitterness  of  tone.  "  I  don't  believe  he  ever  meant  to 
go!" 

"  lie  may  have  meant  to  go,  and  changed  his  mind," 
says  Roslyn,  impatient  at  his  manner  of  speaking ;  while 
Geoffrey,  in  turn,  who  now  knows — or  thinks  he  knows — 
the  meaning  of  the  brightness  which  has  been  shining  on 
him,  feels  much  aggrieved  at  her  excusing  Laurent.  All 
his  ideas  are  again  thrown  into  confusion,  and  the  green- 
eyed  monster  is  rampant  in  his  breast.  As  he  sees  Lau- 
rent advance  across  the  floor,  he  puts  Roslyn's  fan  abruptly 
into  her  hand. 

"  I  had  better  go,"  he  says.  "  You  won't  need  me  any 
more." 

She  glances  up  quickly,  with  something  like  a  flash  in 
her  eves. 

%J 

"  You  are  foolish,  and  utterly  unreasonable,"  she  says. 
"  Whose  fault  is  it  that  I  am  here  ?  But  go,  by  all  means, 
if  you  like.  I  confess  I  am  tired  of  jealousy  and  ill- 
nature." 


162  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

Permission  thus  given  him  to  go,  Geoffrey  naturally 
does  not  take  advantage  of  it ;  and  he  is  still  holding  his 
place,  looking  irresolute  and  lowering,  when  Laurent  ap- 
proaches. 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  meet  you  here  to-night,  Miss  Var- 
dray ! "  says  the  last-named,  with  easy  grace.  "  I  was  on 
my  way  to  bid  you  farewell  this  afternoon,  when  Miss 
Gilray  stopped  me  and  induced  me  to  defer  my  departure 
until  to-morrow  by  holding  out  the  hope  that  I  should 
see  you  to-night.7' 

His  tranquil,  unruffled  manner,  his  conventional  words, 
may  veil  anything  or  nothing,  Geoffrey  feels — but,  to  Ros- 
lyn,  his  eyes  are  sufficiently  intelligible  in  their  message 
when  she  meets  them.  If  her  own  express  anything,  how- 
ever, it  is  the  same  careless  indifference  which  tills  her 
voice,  when  she  says: 

"  I  am  a  little  surprised  to  see  you.  Geoffrey  told  me 
this  afternoon  that  you  had  gone." 

"  A  very  natural  conclusion  on  Mr.  Thome's  part," 
says  Laurent,  looking  at  Geoffrey  with  a  slightly  amused 
expression.  "  I  made  my  adieu  at  Yerdevale,  expecting 
to  leave ;  but,  since  I  was  so  unfortunate  as  not  to  find 
you  there,  I  certainly  could  not  have  been  so  neglectful  as 
to  leave  Kirton  without  seeing  you  ;  therefore  I  deferred 
my  departure  to  a  later  train,  and  Miss  Gilray  prevailed 
on  me  to  postpone  it  until  to-morrow.  Now,  may  I  beg 
for  a  dance  ? " 

Again  Geoffrey,  unknowingly  and  certainly  uninten- 
tionally, has  served  his  rival's  interest  well.  Were  he  not 
standing  by,  it  is  probable  that  Roslyn  would  refuse  this 
request,  although  it  is  accompanied  by  an  entreating 
glance  from  eyes  that  well  know  how  to  entreat ;  but  to 
refuse  it  is  to  acknowledge  that  something  exists  between 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM.  163 

Laurent  and  herself  beyond  the  pale  of  conventional  in- 
tercourse. She  hesitates  an  instant,  then  rises,  not  able 
to  tell  whether  she  most  regrets  the  necessity  for  doing 
so,  or  whether  she  is  most  glad  that  circumstances  force 
upon  her  this  last  taste  of  bitter-sweetness.  .  .  . 

Half  an  hour  later  the  dance  is  over,  and  Laurent's 
opportunity  has  come.  In  the  dusk  dimness  of  a  summer 
night,  at  the  remote  end  of  a  vine-shaded  veranda,  with 
fragrance  and  music  filing  the  air — what  fitter  place  or 
more  suggestive  surroundings  could  be  found  for  a  lover's 
passionate  pleading  ?  And  his  pleading  is  very  passion- 
ate, for  everything  unites  to  make  the  thrill  of  real  (which 
can  never  be  mistaken  for  simulated)  earnestness  in  his 
voice.  It  seems  to  him  that  the  summer  starlight  never 
shone  upon  a  fairer  woman  than  she  who  sits  beside  him, 
so  near  that  he  sees  the  trembling  motion  of  her  hand  as 
she  listens. 

For  she  does  listen — and  as  Laurent  grows  more  elo- 
quent, more  urgent,  he  remembers  that  the  woman  who 
listens  generally  yields;  while  Itoslyn,  conscious  of  the 
traitor  within  the  fortress  of  her  heart,  feels  that  the 
struggle  is  too  great  for  her,  that  the  temptation  is  be- 
yond her  power  of  resistance.  Even  the  talisman  "hon- 
or" seems  to  have  failed.  She  sits  and  listens  as  one  un- 
der a  spell,  and  it  will  be  many  a  long  day  before  summer 
starlight  and  summer  fragrance  will  fail  to  bring  back 
the  words  and  tones  she  hears. 

"  You  do  not  deny  that  you  care  for  me,"  says  Lau- 
rent at  last,  exultantly,  "  and  what  is  not  denied  is  partly 
owned.  My  beloved,  will  you  not  own  it  in  words  ? 
Will  you  not  tell  me  that  I  have  won  your  heart,  and 
trust  me  that  I  will  find  the  means  to  claim  it? — and 
this  ! " 


164  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

He  takes  her  hand  as  he  utters  the  last  word ;  and  she 
does  not  withdraw  it,  but,  although  it  remains  in  his  clasp, 
it  is  not  with  the  yielding  softness  with  which  some  hands 
surrender  themselves,  but  it  is  instinct,  as  he  feels,  with 
nervous  energy  that,  like  electricity,  thrills  the  slight  fin- 
gers to  their  tips.  Laurent,  who  has  held  many  hands, 
acknowledges  to  himself  that  he  has  never  held  one  like 
this  before,  one  that  by  the  mere  sensation  of  touch  makes 
him  so  conscious  of  its  sj^irit  and  individuality. 

"  I  should  despise  myself  if  I  told  you  that,"  says  the 
girl  at  last.  "You  have  no  right  to  ask  it  of  me — you 
should  not  press  me  in  such  a  manner  as  this !  If  I  am 
weak,  if  I  imply  a  great  deal  by  merely  listening,  you 
ought  to  be  content  with  that.  You  ought  to  go,  and 
only  ask  the  rest  when  you  can  ask  it  with  honor.  And 
if  that  time  never  comes,  why,  then — " 

"  What  then  ?  "  he  asks,  as  her  voice  pauses  abruptly. 

"  Then,"  she  says,  gathering  self-control  again  by  an 
effort,  "do  not  fancy  that  I  shall  break  my  heart.  It 
may  be  well  for  both  of  us  that  time  and  absence  should 
test  what  we  feel.  I  have  a  suspicion  that  it  may  prove 
only  a  midsummer-night's  dream,"  she  ends,  with  a  smile 
that  fires  the  young  man's  heart  afresh. 

"  A  midsummer-night's  dream,  my  fairest  ?  "  he  says. 
"  Ah,  wait  and  see !  But  for  the  pain  of  leaving  you, 
I  should  be  glad  to  be  tested,  for  then  you  might  trust 
me  more  then  than  you  do  now.  Now  I  am  conscious 
that  you  are  holding  back,  that  you  will  not  even  let 
yourself  love  me ;  but  if  I  come  back  free — " 

"  Free  with  honor,"  she  interrupts. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  be  free  otherwise  ? '  he  asks, 
with  a  touch  of  wounded  pride.  "  You  judge  me  too 
hardly,  because  I  could  not  prevent  my  love  for  you  from 


MIDSUMMER-NIGIITS  DREAM.  1G5 

bursting  all  bounds  of  control.  You  fail  to  realize  the 
peculiar  circumstances  of  my  engagement — " 

"I  have  just  heard  you  dwell  on  them  all,"  she  says; 
"  but  it  seems  to  me  that  if  it  is  merely  a  family  arrange- 
ment, you  are  none  the  less  bound  in  honor  to  fullill  it." 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  says.  "  I  grant  that  I  am  to  a  de- 
gree bound  in  honor  to  fulfill  it ;  but  surely  you  can  not 
think  so  much  bound  as  if  my  cousin's  affections  were 
involved  ?  I  am  sure  she  cares  no  more  for  me  than 
for  any  other  eligible  man  who  will  marry  her  for  her 
fortune." 

"  But  if  you  were  about  to  marry  her  for  her  fortune," 
says  Roslyn,  u  you  must  need  a  fortune  ;  and  remember 
that  I  have  none." 

"  You  are  worth  a  thousand  fortunes  in  yourself ! " 
he  says,  with  (for  the  moment)  passionate  sincerity. 
"How  could  money  add  to  your  surpassing  sweetness?" 

She  is  not  old  enough,  or  cold  enough,  to  suggest  that 
although  it  could  not  add  to  her  sweetness,  it  might  add 
very  materially  to  comfort.  Indeed,  what  young,  fair 
woman,  with  a  pleading  lover  and  a  heart  treacherously 
inclined  toward  him,  would  be  likely  to  remember  how 
midsummer  nights  end,  and  the  solid  things  of  life  re- 
turn  with  the  daylight?  Roslyn  is  no  wiser  than  her 
age  and  sex  would  warrant.  She  listens,  and,  listening, 
forgives  and  trusts. 

"  If  I  am  worth  so  much,"  she  says,  "  you  must  heed 
me.  It  is  not  right  for  you  to  talk  of  love,  or  for  me  to 
hear  you  now.  But  I  will  hear  you  when  you  return — 
if  you  will  go  away  to-morrow,  and  only  come  back  when 
you  can  come  with  freedom  and  honor." 

This  decision  is  not  at  all  what  Laurent  desires.  He 
has  no  mind  to  tear  himself  away  from  the  "  roses  and 


166  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

rapture"  of  love's  dalliance  in  the  fair  summer  hours 
that  open  before  him,  to  face  the  practical  and  most  dis- 
agreeable difficulties  of  his  position.  But  he  is  intui- 
tively conscious  that,  although  he  has  gained  much  from 
Roslyn,  he  will  gain  no  more ;  and  that  to  hesitate  now 
will  be  to  forfeit  all  that  he  has  gained. 

"  You  do  not  know  how  hard,  how  more  than  hard, 
it  is  to  leave  you !  "  he  says,  with  unfeigned  reluctance. 
"How  do  I  know  that  you  may  not  shut  the  door  of 
paradise  in  my  face  when  I  return  ? " 

"I  have  never  broken  my  word  yet,"  she  replies, 
"  and  you  have  it :  I  will  hear  and  I  will  answer  when 
you  return." 


CHAPTEE  XYIII. 

"our  doubts  are  traitors." 

There  are,  at  least,  three  pairs  of  eyes  that  watch 
Roslyn  closely  and  distrustfully — though  it  is  with  the 
distrust  of  love — after  Laurent's  departure.  These  eyes 
belong  to  Colonel  Duncan,  to  Mrs.  Arden,  and  to  Geof- 
frey Thorne.  Each  looks  anxiously  for  signs  of  unhap- 
piness,  following  what  they  suppose  to  be  the  girl's  final 
separation  from  her  lover — and  each  looks  in  vain.  Ros- 
lyn takes  up  her  usual  life  in  her  usual  manner,  and 
those  who  watch  for  failing  spirits  or  drooping  looks 
watch  vainly. 

Of  course,  had  they  been  aware  of  it,  the  reason  of 
this  is  not  far  to  seek.  Roslyn  has  not  parted,  in  any  final 
sense,  from  her  lover,  and  she  is  not  only  sustained  by 
his  promise  to  return,  but  she  is  also  conscious  of  com- 


"  OUR  DOUBTS  ARE   TRAITORS."  167 

man  ding  the  situation.  If — and  this  if  is  in  her  mind  a 
great  one — she  is  certain  enough  of  her  own  heart  when 
he  returns,  "  free  with  honor,"  she  has  only  to  hold  out 
her  hand  like  a  princess,  and  it  will  be  taken  on  bended 
knee.  But  if  time  and  thought  shall  prove  apparent  love 
to  be  only  fancy,  then  she  is  bound  only  to  hear — not  to 
answer,  save  according  to  the  dictates  of  her  heart. 

And  to  say  that  this  heart  is  a  mystery  to  her,  is  only 
to  state  something  familiar  to  experience  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  world.  When  she  sent  Duncan  away,  pro- 
nouncing with  her  own  lips  the  sentence  of  separation 
from  Laurent,  pain  had  weighed  her  to  the  earth,  long- 
ing and  regret  swept  over  her  in  a  flood,  and  that  which 
had  passed  beyond  her  reach  assumed  all  the  appearance 
of  being  eminently  desirable  with  which  imagination  is 
apt  to  endow  unattainable  things.  But  when  another 
change  came,  and  it  was  again  placed  where  she  had  but 
to  put  out  her  hand  and  take  it,  then  again  doubt  rushed 
in.  Was  it,  after  all,  so  very  desirable?  Did  she,  after 
all,  care  so  very  much  for  it  ?  Was  it  a  proved  and  cer- 
tain good,  or  only  a  doubtful  and  uncertain  one?  No 
girl  of  seventeen,  ignorant  alike  of  the  world  and  of  her 
own  heart,  could  answer  these  questions.  But  not  every 
girl  of  seventeen  would  have  been  quick  as  Eoslyn  to 
recognize  their  existence.  She  not  only  recognizes  it, 
but  she  acknowledges  to  herself  that  she  is  glad  for  a 
time  to  try  Laurent,  and  to  try  also  herself.  Since  the 
immediate  fascination  of  his  personal  presence  is  with- 
drawn, the  original  sentiment  of  distrust  with  which  she 
regarded  him  again  asserts  itself.  Doubts  of  his  stabil- 
ity, and,  worse  yet,  of  his  sincerity,  recur  to  her,  though 
she  strives  to  put  them  aside.  But  they  will  not  be  sti- 
fled, and  as  time  goes  on  she  grows  a  little  more  thought- 


168  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

ful.  Should  Laurent  return — and  she  believes  in  him 
sufficiently  to  think  that  he  will  return — what  is  she  to 
answer  ?     How  is  she  to  learn  what  she  really  desires  ? 

Older  people  than  Roslyn  often  find  this  a  difficult 
dilemma.  To  know  clearly  and  positively  that  one  wants 
a  thing  is  more  desirable  than  those  are  aware  who  are 
not  tormented  by  doubt  and  indecision.  The  fear — in  a 
choice  for  life — of  making  an  irretrievable  mistake, 
of  finding  rose-wreaths  turn  to  chains ;  or,  on  the  other 
hand,  of  letting  slip  a  good  that  can  never  be  reclaimed, 
and  of  being  forced  perhaps  to  cry  in  after-life — 

"  This  could  but  have  happened  once, 
And  we  missed  it,  lost  it  forever  " — 

it  is  this  fear  before  which  many  a  woman  stands  help- 
less, with  no  seer  to  read  her  heart,  or  prophesy  for  her 
of  the  future,  and  into  one  error  or  the  other  men  and 
women  fall  every  day. 

How,  then,  can  Roslyn  hope  to  read  aright  the  riddle 
of  her  own  wishes  ?  She  is  so  little  able  to  do  it  that  she 
takes  refuge  in  fatalism.  "If  he  returns  free  —  with 
honor — it  will  be  a  sign  that  I  shall  accept  him,"  she  says 
to  herself,  as  a  last  resource. 

But,  meanwhile,  Laurent  makes  no  haste  to  return. 
He,  too,  is  in  a  dilemma.  Positive  engagement  with  his 
cousin  he  has  none,  though  it  served  his  purpose  to  say 
that  he  had — her  family  having  carried  her  to  Europe  to 
escape  rather  than  to  end  an  entanglement  with  him  ; 
but,  once  away  from  Roslyn,  once  removed  from  the  in- 
fluence of  her  personal  charm,  he  begins  to  ask  himself 
whether,  after  all,  he  shall  do  well  to  end  the  possibilities 
of  life  by  marrying  her.  For  it  is  not  only  that  marriage 
ends  some  possibilities — as  of  greater  heiresses — but  there 


"  OUR  DOUBTS  ARE  TRAITORS."  109 

is  more  than  the  joke  of  marriage  involved  here ;  there 
is,  he  thinks,  the  putting  himself  in  Colonel  Duncan's 
power.  For  if  he  receives  wife  and  fortune  from  the 
hands  of  the  latter,  he  will  certainly  owe  a  certain  sub- 
servience to  his  wishes — he  will  certainly  be  bound  by  a 
chain  of  obligation  too  strong  even  for  him  to  resist. 
Meditating  upon  this,  and  upon  how  little  sympathy 
there  is  between  his  cousin  and  himself — the  man  whose 
kindness  he  has  returned  in  a  manner  worthy  of  his 
grandfather's  descendant — he  almost  feels  as  if  a  crust 
of  bread  and  liberty  might  be  better  than  Cliffton  and 
Roslyn  under  such  oppressive  conditions.  Both  had 
seemed  very  desirable  when  he  was  near  them  ;  and  both 
would  be  very  desirable  still — without  Colonel  Duncan. 
But  with  him — Laurent  shudders.  "  He  may  live  as  long 
as  I — or  he  may  outlive  me,"  he  thinks  ;  "  so  there  is  no 
guarantee  that  if  I  enter  into  such  bondage  it  may  not  be 
for  life." 

So  he  hesitates,  delays — reading  a  noble  generosity  by 
the  light  of  his  own  narrow  conceptions,  and  unaware 
how  little  Duncan  would  think  of  exercising  the  but- 
vcillance  which  he  dreads.  What  he  intended  had  been 
clear  enough  in  the  mind  of  the  latter,  when  he  went  to 
see  Roslyn  that  day  in  Ivirton :  he  would  settle  upon 
Laurent  a  yearly  income,  with  which  he  might  live  where 
he  liked,  and  all  of  the  estate,  outside  of  the  entailed  por- 
tion, should  be  secured  by  his  (Duncan's)  will  to  Roslyn, 
so  that  it  could  never  be  alienated  from  her.  This  was 
the  idea  in  his  mind — an  idea  in  which  there  was  not  the 
faintest  thought  of  dictating  any  mode  of  life  to  Laurent, 
or  of  suffering  Roslyn  to  know  by  what  means  her  happi- 
ness was  secured. 

But  since  Roslyn  had  proved  not  to  be  marie  of  the 

8 


170  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

stuff  of  a  love-sick  maiden,  he  had  not  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  enter  into  the  details  of  his  intentions  to  Laurent ; 
and  the  latter,  left  to  supply  these  details  by  his  own  im- 
agination, did  so  according  to  his  lights.  "He  would 
insist,  of  course,  that  I  should  settle  down  in  that  dull 
country  neighborhood,"  thought  the  man,  to  whom  the  ex- 
citement of  great  cities  was  as  the  breath  of  life.  "  That 
would  be  purchasing  financial  ease  at  too  dear  a  price." 
He  had  grace  enough  not  to  acknowledge  openly  to  him- 
self that  it  would  also  be  purchasing  Eoslyn  at  too  dear  a 
price,  but  in  his  heart  he  thought  so. 

And  therefore  he  procrastinated.  Therefore  he  went 
and  sat  down  in  Mr.  North's  office,  where  he  impressed 
that  gentleman  speedily  as  something  far  more  orna- 
mental than  useful,  while  he  said  to  himself  that  he 
would  see  what  time — which  solves  many  riddles — would 
do  for  him. 

Meanwhile  a  few  changes  took  place  in  the  circle  he 
left  behind.  Mrs.  Arden — vaguely  distrustful  of  Roslyn's 
serenity,  and  determined,  that  if  it  were  possible,  "  that 
man  should  be  put  out  of  her  head  " — presently  carried 
the  girl  away  for  a  month  of  summer  travel  from  one  gay 
resort  to  another ;  while  Geoffrey,  with  a  sad  heart,  be- 
takes himself  to  his  invalid  uncle  and  his  studies.  He, 
too,  has  tasted  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge  since 
he  came  home  early  in  the  summer,  so  full  of  hope  and 
resolve,  so  eager  to  secure  at  once  what  his  heart  coveted. 
He  has  learned  now  that  if  he  ever  secures  it  at  all — 
which  he  recognizes  to  be  very  doubtful — it  will  only  be 
after  long  effort  and  patient  waiting. 

Of  the  effort  he  feels  himself  capable.  "  I  would  do 
anything  to  win  her !  "  he  tells  himself  with  truth.  But 
the  waiting  tries  him  greatly,  for  that  "  all  things  come  to 


"  OUR  DOUBTS  ARE  TRAITORS:'  171 

him  who  knows  how  to  wait"  is  not  a  Bavins  which  com- 
mends  itself  to  the  impatient  soul  of  youth.  It  certainly 
does  not  commend  itself  to  Geoffrey,  and,  when  he  hears 
that  Roslyn  has  returned  home,  he  can  contain  himself  no 
longer;  down  go  his  law-books,  his  uncle  is  informed  that 
he  is  imperatively  bound  to  see  his  mother  without  loss 
of  time,  and,  leaving  that  poor  gentleman  in  an  inconsola- 
ble state  of  mind,  at  losing  his  society,  he  is  off  to  Yerde- 
vale. 

Reaching  Kirton  on  an  early  morning  train,  he  pauses 
only  to  take  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  then  walks  out  to  Verde- 
vale  in  time  for  breakfast.  The  young  fellow's  spirits 
rise  as  he  strides  rapidly  along  the  well-known  road  in  the 
crystal  freshness  of  a  bright  October  morning.  "Whether 
or  not  there  is  any  hope  that  in.  the  far  future  he  may 
some  time  claim  Koslyn  as  his  own,  he  feels  that  he  holds 
a  present  and  tangible  delight  just  within  his  grasp — that 
of  seeing  her,  hearing  her  sweet  voice,  basking  in  the 
light  of  her  radiant  presence ! — and  he  is  glad  with  the 
unalloyed  gladness  of  youth. 

He  finds  the  family  at  Verdevale  in  a  state  of  cheer- 
ful commotion.  Several  trunks,  and  one  plethoric  black 
leather  valise,  are  standing  in  the  front  veranda — children 
are  racing,  and  servants  hurrying  about  in  every  direc- 
tion ;  and  that  there  is  a  general  air  of  bustle  in  the 
house,  he  perceives  before  he  comes  near  it. 

"  What's  the  matter,  little  one  ? "  he  asks,  catching  up 
one  of  the  children,  who  is  the  first  to  see  his  approach, 
and,  proclaiming  his  arrival  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  comes 
flying  to  meet  him.     ""Who's  going  away?" 

He  is  informed  that  "mamma,  and  papa,  and  auntie, 
and  all  us  children,  are  going  to  see  Uncle  John." 


172  ROSLYN' S  FORTUNE. 

"  Roslyn,  too  ?  "  he  asks,  in  a  very  crestfallen  tone — 
and  is  immensely  relieved  when  the  child  shakes  her  head. 
Roslyn  is  not  going — hearing  which,  he  feels  that  he  can 
support  the  absence  of  the  rest  of  the  family  with  exem- 
plary fortitude. 

He  is  in  the  honse  by  this  time,  and  the  next  minute 
is  surrounded  by  all  the  children,  who  crowd  about  him 
with  clamorous  welcome,  and  then  comes  the  equally 
warm  though  less  noisy  greeting  of  their  elders. 

"  You  are  just  in  time,  my  boy,  to  take  care  of  Roslyn 
and  Mrs.  Knight,  while  we  are  away,"  says  Mr.  Vardray, 
as  they  sit  down  to  breakfast.  "  It  is  fortunate  you  hap- 
pened to  come  just  now." 

"  O  Geoff,"  cries  Roslyn,  "  don't  you  remember 
what  a  delightful  time  we  had  once  when  mamma  and 
papa  went  to  Uncle  John's,  and  left  Mrs.  Knight  with 
us?" 

"  Don't  I !  "  replies  Geoffrey,  his  eyes  sparkling  at 
the  recollection.  "  I  only  hope  we  shall  have  an  equally 
delightful  time  now — and  T  see  no  reason  why  we  should 
not." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  says  Roslyn,  looking  a  little  pensively 
at  the  roll  she  is  buttering,  "  that  we  shall  not  be  so  easi- 
ly made  happy  now  as  we  were  then." 

"  You  may  have  outgrown  the  capability  of  enjoying 
simple  pleasures,"  says  Geoffrey,  in  a  low  tone,  as  he  sees 
that  the  attention  of  his  mother  and  step-father  is  en- 
grossed by  some  discussion  about  their  journey,  while  the 
children  are  busy  with  their  breakfast — "  but,  for  me,  I 
shall  like  your  society — and  Mrs.  Knight's— just  as  well 
now  as  I  did  then." 

Roslyn  laughs.  "  She  is  just  the  same  quiet,  excellent 
old  soul  that  she  was  wThen  we  used  to  read  to  her  after 


"OUR  DOUBTS  ARE  TRAITORS:'  173 

tea  till  bed-time — alternating  '  Baron  Munchausen '  with 
'  Last  Days  of  Pompeii.'  1  know  she  will  be  delighted 
to  live  the  old  times  over  again.  You  were  always  her 
special  favorite,  you  know." 

"  Why  do  you  make  this  visit  so  much  earlier  than 
usual  ? "  Geoffrey  asks,  half  an  hour  afterward,  as  he  and 
Mr.  Yard  ray  stand  together,  waiting  for  Mrs.  Yardray 
and  the  children  to  appear.  The  carriage  is  before  the 
door,  the  luggage  is  by  this  time  at  the  station,  and  Mr. 
Yardray  is  becoming  a  little  impatient  of  the  delay. 
"  Xovember  used  to  be  the  time  for  it." 

"  Yes ;  but  John  has  been  urging  us  to  come,  and 
Ellen  thought  the  change  might  benefit  Effie.  The  child 
has  not  seemed  altogether  well  lately. — Here  you  are  at 
last,  are  you,  Ellen  ?  Come  on,  come  on,  children !  I 
shall  not  be  at  all  surprised  if  we  lose  our  train." 

"  There  is  no  danger  whatever  of  that,"  responds 
Mrs.  Yardray,  as  she  kisses  Hoslyn  good-by,  and  turns  to 
Geoffrey.     "  Your  watch  is  always  too  fast." 

"  I  have  railroad  time,"  says  her  husband  ;  and,  hurry- 
ing her  into  the  carriage,  they  drive  off  rapidly. 

The  two  young  people  who  are  left  behind  stand 
looking  at  them  until  the  vehicle  has  passed  out  of  sight ; 
and  then  Roslyn  sits  down  on  the  veranda- steps  and  says  : 

"Don't  you  wish  we  could  be  changed  back  into 
children — just  for  the  next  month  ?  I  think  it  would  be 
very  pleasant ! " 

"  I  don't,"  says  Geoffrey,  decidedly.  "  I  had  rather 
be  as  I  am,  and  see  you  as  you  are,  than  to  go  back  to 
childhood,  pleasant  as  it  was  while  it  lasted." 

Roslyn  sighs.  "  We  were  much  happier  as  children 
than  we  are  now,"  she  says. 

;'  Xot  happier  than  we  might  be ! "  cries  Geoffrey, 


17±  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

with  a  sudden  wistful  tenderness  in  his  voice  and  eyes, 
at  which  the  girl  shrinks  perceptibly.  Putting  her 
hand  in  her  pocket,  she  draws  forth  three  or  four 
letters. 

"  Here  is  my  morning's  work,"  she  says  :  "  to  answer 
these  letters."  She  rises  as  she  speaks.  "  One  of  the 
many  advantages  that  children  have  over  grown  people 
is  an  exemption  from  letter-writing — which  is  certainly 
the  greatest  bore  of  civilized  life." 

"  Roslyn,  I  wish  you  would  sit  down  again  and  list- 
en to  me  for  a  minute,"  says  Geoffrey,  earnestly.  "  Or," 
he  adds,  as  she  hesitates,  "  will  you  take  a  walk  ?  Sup- 
pose we  go  over  and  see  Lettice  ?  The  morning  is  beau- 
tiful, and  we  shall  be  in  the  shade  all  the  way.  Will  you 
go?"  ^ 

"  Yes,  if  you  like,"  she  answers.  "  I  will  get  my  hat 
and  parasol." 

Geoffrey's  gaze  follows  her  as  she  goes  into  the  house 
— a  great  many  different  emotions  chasing  one  another  in 
rapid  succession  over  his  face.  There  is  love,  there  is 
pain,  there  is  humor,  there  is  bitterness — and,  finally,  a 
thoughtful  gravity  which  does  not  vanish  like  the  others, 
but  still  remains  when  Roslyn  rejoins  him,  and  they  are 
walking  across  the  lawn,  through  the  garden,  to  the  gate 
which  opens  into  the  wood.  Not  many  words  are  ex- 
changed between  them  until  they  have  passed  through 
this  gate,  and  are  underneath  the  arching  boughs  of  the 
forest,  with  a  wealth  of  gorgeous  autumn  color  all  around 
them,  and  a  breeze,  soft  and  fragrant,  as  if  it  came  from 
Araby  the  Blest,  kissing  them  as  they  meet  it.  Then 
Geoffrey  speaks  so  abruptly  that  his  companion — who  is 
thinking  how  short  a  time  it  is,  and  yet  how  long  a  time 
it  seems,  since  she  took  her  first  walk  along  these  paths 


"OUR  DOUBTS  ARE  TRAITORS."  175 

with  Laurent — starts  perceptibly  as  his  voice  falls  on  her 
ear. 

"  Don't  think  that  I  have  come  to  persecute  you,  Kos- 
lyn,"  he  is  saying.  "  I  have  kept  the  promise  I  made 
you  when  we  parted :  and  I  intend  to  keep  the  one  I 
make  now  —  that  I  will  never  annoy  you  again  by 
my  love  or  jealousy.  And  so  I  hope  you  will  not 
shnn  me ;  nor  look,  whenever  I  approach  you,  as  if  you 
were  in  a  dentist's  chair,  waiting  while  he  gets  his  instru- 
ments ready  to  extract  one  of  your  teeth — resolute  and 
resigned,  but  aware  of  the  coming  operation." 

"  O  Geoff  !  "  cries  Roslyn,  reproachfully  ;  "  how  can 
you  talk  so !  When  did  I  ever  shun  you,  or  look — as 
you  say  ? " 

"  When  have  you  not  looked  so,  since  I  came  home  in 
July  ? "  he  says,  a  little  sadly.  "  But  I  don't  mean  to 
reproach  you.  It  has  been  my  own  fault.  You  really 
have  had  more  patience  with  me  than  I  deserved.  But 
now  I  want  you  to  forget  all  the  vexation  my  folly  has 
caused  you  ;  and  remember  only  that  I  am  your  brother 
— more  than  your  brother — '  forty  thousand  brothers  could 
not,  with  all  their  quantity  of  love,  make  up  my  sum.' 
There — don't  look  so  distressed !  " — as  she  glances  up 
quickly,  with  a  suspicious  dewiness  in  her  eyes — "  that  is 
all.  I  only  mentioned  the  subject  because  I  want  to  put 
you  at  ease  with  me,  or  else  we  are  not  likely  to  have 
much  enjoyment  of  the  time  we  are  to  spend  together. 
So  now  understand  that  there  is  a  truce  declared.  I  am 
not  to  make  love  directly  or  by  implication,  and  you  are 
not  to  make  excuses  for  getting  away  from  me.  We  are 
to  turn  back  the  hands  of  the  clock  of  time  half  a  dozen 
years  and  be  happy  like  children — for  a  month.  Do  you 
agree  to  it  ? " 


176  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Agree  to  it ! "  she  repeats,  divided  between  an  incli- 
nation to  laugh  and  to  cry.  "  I  should  be  only  too  glad 
if  the  thing  could  be  done  in  earnest.  But  I  am  afraid  it 
can  not  be  done  in  play." 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  can,"  says  Geoffrey,  resolutely.  "  At  least, 
I  am  sure  I  can  do  my  part.  It  is  a  simple  thing,  after  all 
— to  hold  one's  tongue." 

"  Is  it  ? "  says  Boslyn,  laughing  now.  "  Many  people 
differ  with  you — or,  at  least,  if  it  is  a  simple,  it  is  not  an 
easy  thing.  But  I  did  not  mean  that.  I  meant  that  to 
turn  back  and  be  happy  like  children  is  not  possible." 

"I  think  it  might  be  managed — for  a  month,"  says 
Geoffrey.  "  At  all  events,  we'll  try.  And  if  we  can't  be 
happy  as  children,  we'll  be  happy  as  two  not  very  old 
grown  people.     Upon  that  1  am  determined." 

Boslyn  looks  at  him  with  something  wistful  in  her 
giance.  The  confident  words  touch  her  with  a  sense  of 
foreboding.  "I  don't  think  it  is  well  to  determine  upon 
happiness — not  even  for  a  month,"  she  says.  "Some- 
thing might  happen  ;  things  seldom  occur  as  we  expect 
or  picture  them  to  ourselves." 

It  is  now  Geoffrey's  turn  to  glance  at  her  doubtfully. 
"  I  don't  know  anything  likely  to  occur  to  mar  our  hap- 
piness," he  says,  "  unless — unless  some  one  should  come. 
Perhaps  you  have  reason  to  expect  that  ? " 

Color  flashes  into  her  face,  and  she  lifts  her  head 
haughtily.  "  I  have  no  reason  at  all  to  expect  any  one," 
she  answers,  coldly.  "  If  I  had,  I  should  not  hesitate  to 
say  so." 

Silence  follows — silence  broken  only  by  the  tread  of 
their  feet  and  the  rustle  of  dead  leaves  along  the  wood- 
land path.  Geoffrey  is  owning  to  himself  that  he  has 
been  a  fool  to  touch  that  subject ;  while  Boslyn,  glancing 


"  THE  SIGN  OF  DESPAIR."  177 

presently  at  his  downcast  face,  sees  what  a  shadow  has 
come  over  it,  and  begins  to  regret  her  reply.  She  waits 
a  little,  and  then  says  gently,  yet  still  coldly  : 

"  I  think — if  we  are  to  be  happy  for  a  month — we 
had  better  forget,  as  far  as  possible,  the  existence  of  other 
people." 

"  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  says  Geoffrey,  eagerly, 
"  I  desire  nothing  better." 

But  already  it  has  been  borne  in  upon  him  that,  after 
all,  it  may  not  be  so  easy  to  secure  happiness — even  for  a 
month. 


CHAPTEK  XIX. 


"the  sign  of  despair." 


When  they  return  home,  they  find  Mrs.  Knight — 
who  has  arrived  during  their  absence,  and  is  sitting  on 
the  veranda,  knitting. 

"  How  natural  the  good  soul  looks  !  "  cries  Geoffrey, 
as  his  eyes  rest  on  her  before  they  are  within  speaking 
distance.  "  The  same  fresh-colored  placid  face  that  I  re- 
member ever  since  I  can  remember  anything ;  and  I  am 
sure  that  is  the  same  spotless  gown  and  cap  she  has  had 
on  these  ten  years  past. — Why,  how  are  you,  Mrs. 
Knight  \  "  he  exclaims,  running  up  the  steps  and  shaking 
warmly  the  hand  she  extends.  "I'm  very  glad  to  see 
that  you're  '  come  to  take  care  of  us  children  while  mam- 
ma is  gone' — as  we  used  to  say  long  time  ago." 

Mrs.  Knight  smiles  as  she  adjusts  her  spectacles,  and 
fixes  her  eyes  on  the  tall  figure  and  broad  shoulders  that 


178  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

look  very  unfamiliar  to  her  in  connection  with  the  face 
that  surmounts  them. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  be  here,"  she  says,  heartily  ;  "  but 
neither  you  nor  Miss  Roslyn  look  much  like  children 
now.  You've  growed  since  I  saw  you  last — and  if  it 
wasn't  for  your  voice  and  face,  I  shouldn't  a-recognized 
you,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  when  I  saw  you  come  walking  in." 

"You  haven't  changed  since  I  can  first  recollect," 
says  Geoffrey,  "  unless  it  is  to  grow  younger." 

At  this  Mrs.  Knight  smiles  again,  and  resumes  her 
knitting.  She  is  an  elderly  woman,  of  humble  station, 
but  whose  upright  character  and  exceptional  good  sense 
have  made  her  greatly  respected  in  the  neighborhood 
where  she  was  born  and  has  spent  her  life.  A  very 
unhappy  life  it  was  for  many  years,  in  consequence  of 
the  brutal  treatment  she  endured  at  the  hands  of  a  worth- 
less and  dissipated  husband.  Death,  however,  ended  her 
bondage  at  last;  and,  shortly  after  her  husband  died,  she 
inherited  from  a  distant  relative  a  sum  of  money,  which, 
though  small  in  itself,  was  competence  and  ease  to  her. 
"  It  seems  like  Providence  ordered  it  so  that  it  shouldn't 
come  while  Robert  was  alive,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Yardray, 
with  great  simplicity.  "  He  would  soon  a-run  through 
it.  But  now  it'll  make  me  comfortable  the  rest  of  my 
life,  and  be  a  great  help  to  Sarah  and  the  children  after 
I'm  gone."  During  the  time  of  her  trouble  she  had  re- 
ceived much  and  constant  kindness  from  Mrs. Yardray — 
a  fact  which  she  never  forgets.  If  there  is  illness  in  the 
family,  if  the  house  is  full  of  guests,  or  if  Mrs.  Yardray 
is  leaving  home,  Mrs.  Knight  is  always  available  and 
perfectly  trustworthy  to  take  charge  of  the  house,  ser- 
vants, and  children  ;  and  comes  at  a  moment's  notice  to 
devote  herself  conscientiously  to  the  performance  of  any 


"  THE  siGy  of  despair:1  179 

duties  that  may  devolve  on  her.  And  so  it  has  chanced 
that  she  is  here  now.  Roslyn  having  expressed  a  wish 
to  be  excused  from  the  annual  visit  to  "  Uncle  John  n — a 
bachelor  brother  of  Mr.  Vardray — no  objection  was  made 
to  her  remaining  at  home. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,  you  can  stay  if  you  prefer  it," 
Mrs.  Vardray  had  said.  "  You  know  Mrs.  Knight  will 
be  here  ;  and  I  dare  say  you  can  persuade  Lettice  to  stay 
with  you  a  good  deal." 

"  Don't  sleep  away  the  whole  of  this  glorious  after- 
noon, Eoslyn,"  says  Geoffrey,  when  they  are  about  to 
separate  after  dinner.  "  Shall  I  order  the  horses  for  a 
ride  or  a  drive  ? — and  at  what  hour  ? " 

"  A  ride,  by  all  means,"  is  the  reply.  "  I  suppose 
four  o'clock  will  do.     It  is  rather  early — " 

"Xot  too  early,"  interposes  the  young  man.  "Pray 
be  on  time." 

With  which  exhortation,  he  betakes  himself  to  Mr. 
Vardrav's  hammock  for  his  own  siesta. 

%J 

At  half-past  four  they  are  cantering  lightly  along  the 
road  which  leads  to  Cliffton,  and  have  just  come  to  the 
point  where  the  Kirton  road  branches  off  to  the  left, 
when  they  meet  a  servant  riding  one  horse  and  leading 
another.  Horses  and  servant  are  all  three  acquaintances 
of  Geoffrey  and  Eoslyn,  and  as  the  glance  of  the  latter 
rests  upon  the  slender,  dark-brown  horse  on  which  Colo- 
nel Duncan's  groom  is  mounted,  she  remembers  that  the 
last  time  she  saw  the  animal  he  carried  a  rider  handsome 
and  graceful  as  himself — for  this  is  the  horse  Laurent 
rode  during  his  stay  at  Cliffton. 

The  groom  has  halted  at  sight  of  them ;  and  as,  per- 
ceiving this,  they  pause  an  instant,  he  touches  his  hat  and 
says : 


180  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Thorne?  Is  Mass'  Hugo  at 
your  house,  sir  ?  " 

"No,"  answers  Geoffrey,  in  some  surprise — his  eye 
falling  on  the  horse  the  man  was  leading.  "  Why  should 
you  think  so  ? " 

"  He  came  to  town  this  morning  with  Mr.  Shelbourne, 
and  they  was  going  shooting  to-day — and  Mass'  Hugo 
told  me  to  fetch  Redgauntlet  to  the  creek  to  meet  him — 
that  he  would  be  at  the  bridge  about  four  o'clock,  he  ex- 
pected ;  but,  if  he  wasn't  there,  I  was  to  wait  awhile  and 
then  go  on  to  Yerdevale." 

"  He  was  not  at  Yerdevale  when  we  left,"  said  Geof- 
frey, "  but  he  may  have  got  there  since,  if  he  was  shoot- 
ing in  the  woods  the  other  side  of  the  creek.  So  you  had 
better  go  on ;  and,  if  you  find  him  there,  ask  him  to  wait 
till  we  return.     We'll  be  back  before  long." 

It  requires  a  magnanimous  effort  on  Geoffrey's  part 
to  say  this ;  for  the  demon  of  jealousy  stirs  suddenly  in 
his  breast  when  he  hears  that  Colonel  Duncan,  who  he 
knows  was  at  Yerdevale  only  yesterday,  intends  to  be 
there  again  this  evening.  But,  remembering  his  prom- 
ise, he  refrains  from  saying  or  even  looking  what  he 
feels.  He  is,  on  the  contrary,  about  to  remark  upon 
the  beauty  of  the  two  horses,  as  the  servant  passes  on, 
when  Roslyn  makes  a  little  exclamation,  and  points  be- 
fore her. 

A  dog  has  come  running  out  of  the  woods  a  short  dis- 
tance in  front  of  them,  and,  standing  still  in  the  middle 
of  the  road  as  it  sees  their  approach,  begins  to  bark  fran- 
tically, in  a  most  distressed  manner. 

"I  think  it  is  Zoe — Colonel  Duncan's  setter,"  says 
Roslyn.  "How  singularly  she  is  acting  !  She  must  have 
lost  her  master  ;  or  perhaps  she  saw  the  horses  go  by  just 


"  THE  SIGN  01  DESPAIR:1  181 

now.  O  Geoffrey ! " — as  the  animal  comes  tearing  to 
meet  them — u  what  is  that  around  her  neck  1 " 

Geoffrey  has  already  sprung  to  the  ground  as  the  dog 
draws  near,  and  stoops  over  her  with  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  and  dismay  ;  while  she  seizes  his  coat-sleeve  as 
soon  as  it  is  within  reach  of  her  mouth,  and,  holding  fast 
to  it,  uttering  at  the  same  time  a  pitiful  whining  between 
her  teeth,  tries  to  pull  him  in  the  direction  from  which 
she  came. 

"  I  am  afraid  Duncan  may  have  met  with  an  acci- 
dent," the  young  man  says,  hastily,  after  one  glance  at 
the  object  which  has  attracted  the  attention  of  both 
his  companion  and  himself — a  white-linen  handkerchief 
knotted  around  the  dog's  neck.  As  he  unties  it  and 
holds  it  up,  they  perceive  that  it  is  half -saturated  with 
blood. 

"  I  must  see  what  the  meaning  of  this  is ! "  cries 
Geoffrey ;  and,  starting  to  his  feet,  he  puts  the  rein  of  his 
horse  into  Roslyn's  hand,  saying :  "  Wait  here,  and  I  will 
follow  Zoe  and  find  out  if  anything  is  the  matter.  Of 
course,  I  will  be  back  as  soon  as  I  possibly  can." 

Without  staying  for  a  reply,  he  hurries  after  the  dog, 
which,  at  a  sign  from  him,  has  bounded  away,  retracing 
her  steps  to  the  place  where  she  emerged  from  the  wood 
a  minute  or  two  before.  At  this  precise  spot  she  disap- 
pears in  some  bushes,  and  Geoffrey  plunges  through 
them  after  her. 

If  Roslyn  were  a  veteran  soldier,  and  Geoffrey  her 
officer,  she  could  not  obey  his  order  more  promptly  and 
unquestioningly  than  she  does.  Drawing  up  at  the  side 
of  the  road,  she  remains  just  where  he  left  her  for  what 
seems  to  her  a  long  time — a  very  long  time.  She  has  an 
instinctive  conviction    that   something   terrible  has   be- 


182  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

fallen  Colonel  Duncan  ;  and,  as  the  lingering  minutes  drag 
on,  feels  the  suspense  to  be  very  trying.  Suddenly  it  oc- 
curs to  her  that  she  might  as  well  go  on  to  the  place  at 
which  Geoffrey  left  the  road.  JS"o  doubt  he  will  return 
the  same  way  he  went.  She  rides  forward  to  the  spot, 
therefore,  and  stops  at  the  clump  of  bushes  where  he 
vanished  from  sight.  Looking  anxiously  down  into  a 
dim  region  of  shadow — for  the  ground  slopes  away  from 
the  road  here  by  a  steep  declivity — she  fancies  that  she 
sees  a  figure  some  distance  away,  moving  swiftly  toward 
her ;  but  the  undergrowth  is  thick  on  the  side  of  the  hill, 
and  the  foliage  of  the  dense  forest-growth  shuts  out  the 
light  so  effectually  that  she  is  by  no  means  certain  but 
that  her  sight  may  deceive  her,  until  her  ear  catches  a 
sound  as  of  something  or  somebody  crashing  through  the 
bushes.     She  calls  in  a  rather  tremulous  tone  : 

"  Geoffrey,  is  that  you  ? " 

"  No'm,  it's  me — Jack  Curry,"  a  shrill  voice  responds 
— the  crashing,  which  continues  more  vigorously  than 
ever,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer.  The  next  moment  the 
interlacing  boughs  of  two  tall  shrubs  close  by  part,  and 
a  half-grown  boy  pushes  through  the  aperture  and  stands 
beside  her  horse's  head.  Taking  off  his  hat  with  one 
hand,  he  extends  the  other  to  her,  saying : 

"  Mr.  Thorne  sent  it,  ma'am  ;  and  he  says  please 
hurry." 

Roslyn  takes  the  note  he  offers ;  but  when  she  sees 
that,  like  the  handkerchief,  it  is  "  red  with  the  sign  of  de- 
spair," she  is  seized  with  a  nervous  tremor  that  shakes 
her  from  head  to  foot,  and  dims  her  sight  so  that  she  can 
not  for  an  instant  distinguish  anything  on  the  paper  be- 
fore her  but  a  faint,  blurred  confusion  of  pencil-marks. 
It  is  not  until  after  several  efforts,  that  she  manages  to 


COLONEL  DUNCAN'S  ACCIDENT.  183 

decipher  the  hurried  lines  which  Geoffrey  has  written  on 
a  leaf  of  his  note-book.     This  is  what  he  says : 

"  Colonel  Duncan  has  accidentally  shot  himself,  and 
I  am  afraid  his  wound  is  a  bad  one.  Give  Jack  Curry 
my  horse  to  go  over  to  Kirton,  and  do  you  hurry  home 
and  send  the  carriage  to  me,  to  the  bend  of  the  creek. 
I  will  take  Duncan  to  Yerdevale,  as  it  is  much  nearer 
than  Cliff  ton.  Have  a  room  ready,  and  tell  James  to 
take  the  new  road  in  coming.     Be  sure  about  this. 

"  G.  T." 


CHAPTER  XX. 


colonel  duncan's  accident. 


Mrs.  Knight's  somewhat  laro-e-featured,  fresh-col- 
ored  face  is  benign,  almost  smiling,  as  she  sits  by  a  win- 
dow in  the  dining-room,  where  the  light  is  good,  and 
knits  many  pleasant  fancies  into  the  heel  of  a  small 
stocking  which  she  is  manufacturing  for  her  little  grand- 
son. She  is  thinking  what  a  nice  couple  Mr.  Geoffrey 
and  Miss  Roslyn  will  make,  and  wondering  when  the 
wedding  will  "  come  off";  and  reflecting  that  if  they 
should  want  her  to  keep  house  for  them — as  Mr.  Geoffrey 
used  alwavs  to  say  thev  would — she  doesn't  know  how 
she  could  refuse  :  though  Sarah  and  the  children  would 
think  hard  of  her  leaving  them,  to  be  sure. 

At  this  point  of  her  meditation,  her  ball  of  yarn, 
which  has  rolled  gently  from  her  lap  to  the  floor,  is  taken 
possession  of  by  a  pet  kitten,  who  tosses  it  back  and'  forth 


184  ROSLYN' S  FORTUNE. 

from  paw  to  paw,  until  the  thread  becomes  taut,  and  the 
attention  of  its  owner  is  attracted.  The  good  woman 
rises  deliberately  from  her  seat,  a  motion  of  her  hand 
sends  the  kitten  flying,  with  arched  back,  in  sidewise 
leaps  across  the  floor,  and  she  stoops  more  deliberately  to 
pick  up  her  purloined  property,  when  she  hears  a  light 
footstep  and  soft  sweep  of  drapery  in  the  hall.  Think- 
ing that  it  is  probably  Lettice,  she  walks  forward  to  re- 
ceive her,  and  is  transfixed  to  the  spot  by  astonishment 
at  sight  of  Roslyn — Roslyn  still  in  riding-costume,  but 
looking  so  pale  and  quiet — so  altogether  unlike  the 
laughing  girl  who  rode  away  but  a  short  time  before — 
that  if  Mrs.  Knight  were  either  fanciful  or  superstitious, 
she  might  well  take  the  figure  before  her  for  a  wraith 
instead  of  a  reality.  Being  very  matter-of-fact,  this  idea 
does  not  occur  to  her ;  she  only  asks,  with  a  little  trepida- 
tion, whether  anything  is  the  matter,  and  what  has  be- 
come of  Mr.  Geoffrey. 

Roslyn  explains  in  few  words ;  and  with  many  ex- 
pressions of  regret  that  such  a  misfortune  should  have 
happened  to  Colonel  Duncan,  Mrs.  Knight  bustles  off  to 
have  a  chamber  prepared,  while  the  girl  goes  mechani- 
cally to  her  own  room  and  takes  off  her  habit.  She  has 
sent  the  carriage  as  Geoffrey  directed — having  ridden  at 
speed  to  the  stable,  and  seen  herself  that  there  was  no 
delay  in  setting  out  on  the  part  of  the  coachman.  There 
is  nothing  more  for  her  to  do ;  and  she  sits  down  at  a 
window  from  which  she  can  see  the  new  road — which 
runs  a  hundred  yards  or  so  to  the  rear  of  the  house — 
with  a  sense  of  mingled  helplessness  and  depression  such 
as  she  never  felt  before  in  her  life.  It  is  impossible  to 
do  anything  but  think  of  Colonel  Duncan  wounded  and 
suffering. 


COLONEL  DUNCAN'S  ACCIDENT.  185 

After  a  while  Mrs.  Knight  taps  at  her  door  and  invites 
her  to  come  and  see  if  she  thinks  everything  which  can 
by  possibility  be  needed  has  been  prepared  for  the  re- 
ception of  the  wounded  man  ;  and  glancing  at  the  large, 
airy,  pleasant  apartment  which  has  been  made  ready,  she 
finds  but  one  deficiency  in  its  arrangement. 

"  Everything  looks  as  nicely  as  possible,"  she  says  ; 
"  and  of  course  you  know  a  great  deal  better  than  I  do 
what  is  needed,  Mrs.  Knight.  But  I  will  go  and  get 
some  flowers." 

"  That  does  look  pretty,"  Mrs.  Knight  says  a  few  min- 
utes later,  when  Roslyn  has  placed  a  vase  of  roses  on 
the  toilet-table,  directly  opposite  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  I  hope  he  will  understand  that  I  put  them  there," 
she  thinks,  as  she  turns  away  and  goes  back  to  resume 
her  watch  by  the  window. 

Time  passes :  the  sun's  bright  lances  slant  more  and 
more,  grow  golden,  pink,  crimson,  and  finally  disappear — 
twilight  even  is  fading  into  dusk  night — before  there  is 
any  sign  or  sound  on  the  road  she  has  been  watching  so 
steadily  and  so  long.  At  last  the  clatter  of  a  horse's 
hoofs  is  audible,  the  stable-yard  gate  is  opened,  and  pres- 
ently in  the  starlight  she  recognizes  Geoffrey's  figure,  as 
he  comes  hurrying  to  the  house.  Palpitating  with  eager- 
ness, she  runs  down-stairs  and  meets  him  just  as  he  en- 
ters the  back-door  and  stands  in  the  full  ^lare  of  the  hall 
chandelier. 

As  her  eyes  take  in  his  appearance,  she  starts  back 
with  a  cry  of  horror.  His  face  is  very  grave,  and  his 
hands,  wristbands,  the  whole  front  of  his  light  gray 
dress,  are  soaked  with  blood. 

"  I  was  in  hopes  that  I  might  get  into  the  house 
without  you  hearing  me,"  he  says.     "  I  knew  you  would 


186  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

be  shocked  if  you  saw  this  " — glancing  at  the  crimson 
stains  ;  "  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have  nothing  good 
to  tell  you." 

"You  don't  mean  that  Colonel  Duncan  is — dead?" 
she  says,  with  a  gasp. 

"  No,  no  ! '  Geoffrey  answers  quickly.  "  He  is 
alive  ;  but  the  doctors  have  not  much  hope  of  his  being 
so  this  time  to-morrow. — The  room  is  ready,  I  suppose, 
Mrs.  Knight  ? — You  had  better  go  to  your  own  room, 
Roslyn,  and  stay  there.  The  carriage  will  be  here  in  a 
few  minutes,  and  there  is  a  crowd  of  men  with  it,"  he 
adds,  hastily,  as  he  passes  her  and  runs  up-stairs,  taking 
three  steps  at  a  bound. 

It  is  late,  and  the  house  has  at  last  settled  to  more 
than  its  usual  stillness,  after  much  more  than  usual  bustle 
and  commotion.  The  news  of  Colonel  Duncan's  acci- 
dent, which  was  carried  to  Kirton  by  the  messenger  who 
was  sent  for  medical  aid,  created  great  excitement  in  that 
place.  Numbers  of  his  friends — and  no  man  in  all  the 
country-side  has  more  friends  or  warmer  ones — hurried 
to  offer  their  services  in  any  way  which  might  be  need- 
ed ;  and  not  a  few  accompanied  the  carriage  which  con- 
veyed him  in  a  state  of  insensibility  to  Yerdevale,  and 
waited  there  for  some  time  to  learn  the  verdict  of  the 
physicians  after  their  examination  was  made. 

These  supernumeraries  have  at  length  been  persuaded 
by  the  medical  men  to  go  home ;  and  there  remain  now 
only  the  two  principal  physicians  of  Kirton,  Doctors 
Kirke  and  Chelmson,  Mr.  Shelbourne,  the  intimate  friend 
of  Colonel  Duncan,  his  host  for  the  time  being,  Geoffrey 
Thorne,  and  Mr.  Stanley. 

That  the  latter  is  no  friend  of  Colonel  Duncan's,  it  is 
needless   to  say ;   and  that,  to  everybody  concerned,  his 


COLONEL  DUNCAN* S  AC  OLD  EXT.  1S7 

presence  is  extremely  unwelcome,  Mr.  Stanley  is  per- 
fectly aware.  But  he  has  a  reason  of  his  own  for  being 
interested  in  the  question  of  life  or  death  which  is  pend- 
ing— a  reason  strong  enough  to  induce  him  to  remain  in 
the  house,  though  Colonel  Duncan  may  die  before  morn- 
ing, the  physicians  say.  It  is  not  his  habit  voluntarily 
to  face  the  disagreeables  of  life — and,  of  all  disagree- 
bles,  that  of  coming  into  immediate  contact  with  the 
presence  of  death  he  avoids  most.  As  he  is  here,  how- 
ever, and  means  to  stay  here  until  there  is  more  cer- 
tainty as  to  the  issue  of  the  accident  than  now  exists,  he 
makes  himself  comfortable  :  enjoys  the  supper  which  is 
served,  and  the  cigars  and  liqueurs  which  Geoffrey  has 
provided  for  his  guests  ;  and,  still  more,  enjoys  the  annoy- 
ance exhibited  in  different  ways  by  all  four  of  the  men 
upon  whom  he  has  forced  his  company.  The  two  doc- 
tors are  cold,  Mr.  Shelbourne  is  curt,  and  Geoffrey  is  very 
stiff,  in  manner ;  but  he  is  all  suavity  himself,  and  even 
offers  to  sit  up  for  the  night  in  the  chamber  of  the 
wounded  man.  This  offer  having  been  declined  without 
thanks,  by  Dr.  Kirke,  he  establishes  himself  in  the  sit- 
ting-room with  a  cigar  and  a  novel. 

But  reading  anything  except  a  sporting  journal  is  not 
much  in  his  way.  lie  soon  throws  down  the  volume, 
starts  up  suddenly,  and,  ringing  the  bell,  tells  the  servant 
who  answers  it  to  bring  him  writing-materials.  His  re- 
quest having  been  complied  with,  he  dashes  off  a  short 
letter,  having  sealed  and  addressed  which,  he  leaves  it 
lying  on  the  table,  extends  himself  upon  a  sofa,  and  goes 
contentedly  to  sleep. 

"  How  is  he  ?  what  do  the  doctors  think  now  ? "  Ros- 
lyn  asks,  when,  after  several  unsuccessful  efforts,  she  final- 
ly obtains  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Geoffrey. 


188  ROSLYX'8  FORTUNE. 

"  They  think  just  what  they  did  at  first — that  it  is 
very  doubtful  whether  he  can  survive  the  night,"  is  the 
reply.     "  His  pulse  is  barely  perceptible." 

"  How  awful !  oh,  how  awful !  How  infinitely  sorry 
I  am !  "  the  girl  says,  in  a  quivering  voice — and  adds, 
after  a  short  silence,  "  How  shocked  and  grieved  papa 
and  mamma  will  be ! — he  wTas  such  a  friend  of  theirs." 

"  Yes,"  says  Geoffrey,  "  they  will  be  greatly  distressed. 
I  wish  very  much  that  they  were  at  home." 

"  So  do  I,"  says  Roslyn.  "  But  Mrs.  Knight  is  an 
excellent  nurse,  you  know.  They  will  be  glad  you 
brought  him  here,  Geoffrey — glad  that  you  did  all  you 
could  for  him." 

Geoffrey  nods.  "  It  would  have  been  certain  death 
to  him  to  have  been  taken  such  a  distance  as  to  Cliffton," 
he  says.  "  Indeed,  I  never  thought  of  it  from  the  mo- 
ment I  saw  him.  But  I  am  sorry  my  mother  is  not  at 
home  ;  and  my  father — I  wish  still  more  that  he  had  not 
been  absent  at  such  a  time." 

"  I  expect  he  will  come  when  he  hears  of  the  acci- 
dent," says  Roslyn.  "  I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  he  and 
mamma  both  come  as  soon  as  the  news  reaches  them." 

Neither  speaks  again  for  several  minutes.  They  are 
standing  in  the  moonlight,  outside  one  of  the  dining-room 
windows  that  opens  on  a  small  balcony,  from  which  a 
flight  of  steps  descends  to  the  ground.  Presently  Roslyn 
lays  her  hand  on  her  companion's  arm,  and  silently  leads 
the  way  down  the  steps,  and  along  a  gravel- walk  toward 
the  garden. 

"  I  feel  oppressed  in  the  house,"  she  says,  when  they 
have  gone  some  little  distance.  "  It  is  so  sudden  and  so 
terrible — to  think  that  Colonel  Duncan  may  be  dying  ! 
It  seems  impossible !     How  plainly  I  can  see  him  when 


COLONEL  DUNCAN' 8  ACCIDENT,  1S9 

lie  was  starting  home  last  night,  as  lie  stood  in  the  moon- 
light shaking  hands  with  papa  just  before  mounting  his 
horse  !      And  to  think — " 

She  breaks  off  abruptly,  and  closes  her  fingers  tightly 
on  Geoffrey's  arm,  as  she  asks,  in  a  tone  wistful  even  to 
pain : 

"  Is  there  no  hope  for  him  ? " 

"  You  know  while  there  is  life  there  is  hope — and  he 
has  an  excellent  constitution,"  Geoffrey  answers.  But 
his  voice  is  less  sanguine  than  his  words. 

"  How  did  the  accident  occur  \ "  inquires  Eoslyn. 
"  I  have  not  heard  a  word  about  it." 

"  Tou  remember  what  Wash  said  about  bringing  the 
horse  to  meet  his  master  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Duncan  drove  into  Kirton  this  morning  with  Mr. 
Shelbourne,  who  spent  the  night  at  Cliffton,  and  after 
getting  his  gun  from  the  locksmith's,  where  it  had  been 
sent  to  be  put  in  order,  they  both  went  out  shooting. 
Shelbourne  says  that,  after  a  good  day's  sport,  they  parted, 
about  four  o'clock,  in  the  woods  just  the  other  side  of  the 
creek.  Shelbourne  went  back  to  Kirton,  and  Duncan 
started  in  the  opposite  direction,  going  down  the  creek 
toward  the  bridge,  where  his  horse  would  be  waiting 
for  him,  he  said.  He  was  passing  within  sight  of  the 
road,  though  a  considerable  distance  from  it,  when  he 
saw  Wash  riding  by,  and  called  to  him  to  stop.  But 
Wash  did  not  hear  his  voice,  and  rode  on.  Then  he 
mounted  the  fallen  trunk  of  a  large  tree,  and,  with  his 
hand  resting  on  the  stock  of  his  gun  to  steady  himself, 
shouted  to  the  boy  again.  As  he  did  so,  his  foot  slipped 
on  the  rounded  surface  he  was  standing  upon,  and  he 
went  over  backward,  involuntarily  pulling  the  gun  with 


190  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

him  as  he  fell.  The  trigger  caught  against  something, 
and  the  piece  was  discharged,  pouring  its  contents  into 
his  side.  It  was  only  a  load  of  bird-shot,  and,  if  the  weap- 
on had  not  been  so  near  him,  the  injury  would  have  been 
trifling,  as  the  shot  would  have  scattered  and  merely  pep- 
pered him  severely.  But,  you  see,  when  the  gun  went 
off,  the  muzzle  must  have  been  within  six  inches  of  his 
body ;  and  so  the  charge,  which  happened  to  be  a  heavy 
one,  entered  almost  like  a  bullet,  and  tore  through  the 
cartilages  just  under  the  left  shoulder-blade,  making  a 
terribly  lacerated  wound,  which  bled  fearfully.  Still,  he 
did  not  think  it  at  all  serious,  but  started  to  make  a  di- 
rect cut  across  the  woods  to  come  here.  Before  he  had 
walked  far  he  began  to  feel  faint,  and,  putting  his  hand 
to  his  shoulder,  found  that  the  blood  was  streaming  from 
it.  He  sat  down,  and  had  presence  of  mind  to  think  of 
sending  one  of  his  dogs  for  assistance.  If  he  had  not 
done  so,  and  but  for  the  chance  of  her  having  met  us, 
and  my  getting  to  him  as  soon  as  I  did,  he  would  have 
bled  to  death.  I  found  him  lying  in  a  pool  of  blood,  and 
he  had  barely  time  to  explain  in  a  word  or  two  how  the 
accident  happened  before  he  fainted  from  exhaustion. 
I  did  what  I  could  to  stanch  the  wound,  and  was  then 
writing  the  note  you  received,  intending  to  send  Joe 
with  it,  when  I  heard  somebody  whistling,  called,  and 
Jack  Curry,  who  was  fishing  in  the  creek  not  far  off, 
came  running  up." 

"Dr.  Chelmson  is  a  good  surgeon,  isn't  he?"  says 
Eoslyn. 

"He  ought  to  be,"  answers  Geoffrey.  "He  spent 
two  years  in  the  Paris  hospitals,  I  have  heard." 

"  Surely,  then,  surely  he  will  be  able  to  save  Colonel 
Duncan ! " 


COLONEL  DUNCAN'S  ACCIDENT.  191 

"He  will  try,  you  may  be  sure,"  says  Geoffrey. 
"  But  both  lie  aud  Kirke — who  is  an  able  physician,  you 
kuow,  though  not  so  good  a  surgeon  as  Chelnison — are 
very  apprehensive.  The  bleeding  was  so  excessive  that 
Duncan  has  been  insensible  ever  since  he  fainted  first ; 
and  they  are  afraid  he  will  sink,  from  sheer  exhaustion, 
before  there  is  time  for  a  rally  of  the  forces  of  nature." 

"  And  to  think,"  exclaims  Roslyn,  "  that  this  terrible 
accident  should  have  happened  merely  from  an  act  of 
carelessness  !  Oh,  why  will  people  be  so  reckless  in  hand- 
ling fire-arms  ! " 

"  Only,  I  suppose,  because  familiarity  destroys  the 
sense  of  danger,"  says  Geoffrey.  "  It  certainly  is  deplor- 
able to  think  of  a  man  like  Duncan  losing  his  life  in 
such  a  way." 

"  Do  let  it  be  a  lesson  to  you,  Geoffrey  ! "  says  Roslyn, 
looking  up  wistfully.  "  I  have  often  been  very  unhappy 
when  I  saw  you  walking  off  with  your  gun,  for  you  al- 
wavs  were  so  reckless  !  " 

The  expression  of  the  sweet,  upturned  face,  seen 
clearly  in  the  moonlight,  goes  to  Geoffrey's  heart,  and 
passionate  words  spring  to  his  lips.  But  he  remembers 
his  promise,  and  only  says,  in  a  tone  of  gentle  gravity  : 

"  I  will,  indeed,  be  more  careful  in  future ;  for  it 
seems  as  if  a  life  lost  in  this  manner  is  a  life  thrown 
away.  But  do  you  know  what  time  it  is  ?  After  twelve 
o'clock !    You  must  go  to  bed — and  do  try  to  go  to  sleep." 


192  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  HERE   IN    ONE   LINE    IS    HIS   NAME   WRIT." 

Geoffrey's  advice  is  good,  and  Roslyn  is  well  dis- 
posed to  take  it ;  but,  unfortunately,  it  does  not  always 
rest  with  ourselves  whether  we  can  do  what  we  wish. 
Since  she  can  in  no  wise  aid  in  the  struggle  which,  she  is 
well  aware,  is  going  on  so  near  by,  between  man's  skill 
and  death's  perhaps  irresistible  approach,  she  would  be 
glad  to  escape  the  sense  of  intense  regret  and  sadness 
that  weighs  on  her,  and  to  lose,  for  a  time  at  least,  con- 
sciousness of  the  pains  she  feels. 

But  she  is  too  much  excited  to  be  able  to  sleep.  All 
manner  of  thoughts  crowd  upon  her.  It  seems  so  hard, 
so  hard,  she  repeats  again  and  again,  that  such  a  trifle — a 
mere  heedless  movement — should  bring  about  such  a  re- 
sult ! 

Colonel  Duncan's  face  in  many  different  aspects  is 
constantly  before  her  mind's  eye.  She  sees  it  with  its 
ordinary  expression,  genial  and  serene  ;  she  sees  the  look 
of  bravely  repressed  pain  which  it  wore  that  day  when  he 
asked  her  to  be  his  wife,  and  learned  by  her  manner  that 
the  very  suggestion  was  repugnant  to  her ;  and,  in  imagi- 
nation, she  sees  him  now,  lying  white  and  insensible,  with 
life  ebbing  low  in  his  veins — or  already  gone,  it  may  be. 

At  this  thought,  tears  for  the  first  time  suddenly 
burst  forth,  and  she  sobs  passionately,  feeling  that  until 
this  moment  she  never  realized  how  much  a  part  of  her 
life  he  has  always  been,  nor  ever  appreciated  all  his  good- 


"■HERE  IN  ONE  LINE  IS  BIS  NAME  WRIT:'    193 

ness  and  nobleness.  Recalling  the  generosity  of  his 
conduct  with  regard  to  Laurent,  a  sharp  spasm  of  re- 
morse clutches  her  heart — as  if  a  human  hand  had  seized 
it  and  was  crushing  its  fibers  in  a  cruel  grasp. 

"  Always  so  good  and  kind  and  gracious ! "  she 
thinks ;  "  and  I  never  did  anything  but  give  him  pain. 
I  could  not  help  it !  But  oh,  I  wish,  I  wish,  I  wish  he 
would  not  die !  " 

Her  pillow  is  wet  with  tears  when  at  last,  like  a  child 
that  has  cried  away  its  grief,  she  sinks  to  sleep. 

She  awakes  the  next  morning  with  a  confused  sense 
that  something  has  occurred,  something  is  the  matter. 
What  it  is,  she  can  not  at  first  remember ;  but  the  next  in- 
stant the  recollection  rushes  over  her,  and  she  clasps  her 
hands  at  the  thought  of  what  may  have  happened  since 
she  parted  with  Geoffrey  last  night.  She  is  glad  that  her 
maid  has  not  appeared  yet,  knowing  that,  like  most  ser- 
vants, the  girl  delights  in  telling  news ;  and  the  idea  of 
hearing  the  news  which  she  is  dreading,  told  as  a  matter 
of  enjoyable  gossip,  is  intolerable  to  her. 

"  I  will  dress  and  go  down-stairs,"  she  thinks — rising 
at  once.  It  seems  to  her  that  she  can  better  bear  to  learn 
the  worst  from  Geoffrey  than  from  anybody  else — if  it  is 
the  worst  that  must  be  borne.  But,  before  she  has  half 
completed  her  toilet,  the  maid  appears,  and,  almost  as  she 
enters  the  room,  announces  that  "  the  colonel  ain't  much 
better  this  morning,  they  say." 

Roslyn  is  so  much  relieved  by  this  even  nagatively 
good  report,  that  she  does  not  reprove  the  servant  for  her 
eagerness  to  impart  the  information,  but,  with  her  assist- 
ance, goes  on  dressing — asking  presently  : 

"  Is  not  breakfast  nearly  ready  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes'm  !    I  expect  they's  most  done  breakfast  by 

9 


194  R0SLY1PS  FORTUNE. 

this  time,"  is  the  reply.  "  I've  been  up  twice  before,  but 
you  was  asleep — and  Mass'  Geoffrey  tolcl  me  to  be  sure  and 
not  disturb  you  this  morning.  I  come  up  now  to  see  if 
you  was  awake  yet,  and  if  I  should  bring  up  your  break- 
fast." 

"No,"  says  Roslyn  ;  "I  will  go  down.  Who  is  here 
besides  the  doctors  % " 

"Nobody  but  Mr.  Shelbourne.  Mr.  Stanley  was 
here ;  but  he  e't  his  breakfast  before  any  of  the  other 
gentlemen  was  ready,  and's  gone  home." 

"Mr.  Stanley?"  cries  Roslyn,  astonished.  "You 
must  be  mistaken,  Margery !  What  would  he  be  doing 
here  ? " 

"No,  indeed,  I'm  not  mistaken,  Miss  Roslyn.  I 
couldn't  be  mistaken ;  for  I  saw  him  myself.  He  staid 
here  all  night." 

Roslyn  makes  no  further  comment  on  this  intelligence 
— but  her  face  is  very  expressive  of  sentiments  the  re- 
verse of  pleasurable  as  she  leaves  the  room. 

On  the  stairs  she  overtakes  Mrs.  Knight,  who  never 
goes  to  the  table  when  there  are  guests  in  the  house,  and 
who  has  now  just  left  Colonel  Duncan's  room. 

"  O  Mrs.  Knight,"  she  cries,  eagerly,  "  how  is  Colonel 
Duncan  this  morning  %  I  am  sure  he  must  be  better — 
you  look  as  if  he  were !  " 

"  The  doctors  don't  seem  to  think  there  is  much 
change,"  answers  Mrs.  Knight ;  but  she  smiles,  and  her 
face,  which  has  lost  the  solemn  expression  it  wore  when 
Roslyn  saw  her  last,  is  placid  as  usual. 

"  But  what  do  you  think  ? "  asks  Roslyn,  anxiously. 
"  You  know  so  much  about  sickness  and  everything  of 
the  kind,  that  you  ought  to  be  able  to  judge  almost  as 
well  as  the  doctors." 


"HERE  IN  ONE  LINE  IS  HIS  NAME  WRIT."    195 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  set  np  my  judgment  ag'in  theirs," 
says  the  good  woman,  modestly.     "  They  ought  to  know." 

"  Do  you  agree  with  them,  though  ?     Tell  me  that ! ' 
exclaims  the  girl,  impulsively.     "DonH  you  think  he — 
that  he  may  recover  ? " 

"  I  hope  so,"  says  Mrs.  Knight,  with  evident  sincerity ; 
"and  I  do  think  that  his  pulse  is  a  little  stronger  just 
within  the  last  hour.  If  he  isn't  any  better,  I  can't  see 
that  he's  any  worse — and  that's  encouraging." 

"  Of  course  it  is  !  "  cries  Roslyn,  brightening  wonder- 
fully at  these  cheering  words,  as  a  weight  of  apprehen- 
sion seems  lifted  from  her  mind.  "  Oh,  I  am  sure  he  will 
get  well ! " 

They  are  at  the  dining-room  door  as  she  utters  the 
last  sentence ;  and  Mrs.  Knight  passes  on,  while  she  en- 
ters the  apartment. 

Her  face  is  full  of  light  and  color  as  she  exchanges 
salutations  with  the  gentlemen,  and  takes  her  seat  at  the 
table. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  that  Colonel  Duncan  is  better," 
she  says,  addressing  Dr.  Kirke  in  particular  and  the  com- 
pany in  general. 

"  If  he  is  better,"  says  Dr.  Kirke,  in  a  deliberate  and 
somewhat  dogmatic  tone,  "  a  favorable  change  must  have 
occurred  very  lately.  When  I  saw  him  last,  about  half  an 
hour  ago,  there  was  no  appreciable  alteration  for  the  bet- 
ter." 

"  There  was  a  slight  indication  of  the  approach  of  a 
favorable  change,  I  thought,"  says  Dr.  Chelmson,  sorry 
to  see  how  suddenly  and  entirely  Koslyn's  face  has  be- 
come overcast.  "I  remarked  this,  as  we  came  down- 
stairs, if  you  remember.  I  should  not  be  surprised  to 
find  a  decided  improvement  in  his  condition  very  shortly." 


196  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

Roslyn  glances  at  the  young  man  gratefully,  as  he 
speaks. 

"  Mrs.  Knight  thinks  his  pulse  has  grown  a  little 
stronger,"  she  says. 

"  All !  "  exclaims  Dr.  Kirke,  with  roused  attention. 
"  That  certainly  is  a  favorable  symptom — if  it  exists." 
He  moves  slightly  in  his  chair,  then  starts  to  his  feet,  and 
says : 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  go  and  see.  I  can't  say  I 
have  much  faith  in  Mrs.  Knight's  opinion  ;  though  she 
is  a  sensible  woman,  and  one  of  the  best  nurses  I  ever 
met  with.  But  I  had  rather  see  for  myself. — Suppose 
you  come,  too,  Chelmson  ? " 

He  leaves  the  room  while  speaking,  and  Dr.  Chelm- 
son, with  a  bow  of  apology  to  Miss  Vardray,  rises  and  fol- 
lows him. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  says  Geoffrey,  when  they  are  gone, 
"  that,  taking  a  common-sense  view  of  the  matter,  Colonel 
Duncan  must  be  better,  or  he  could  not  have  lived  so 
long  as  he  has,  after  such  profuse  bleeding." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  says  Mr.  Shelbourne.  "  He  has 
extraordinary  rally ing-power.  And,"  adds  the  lawyer, 
with  the  suspicion  of  a  smile  on  his  firm,  well-cut  lip, 
and  a  very  decided  glitter  in  his  blue-gray  eyes,  "Kirke 
is  always  a  little  disposed  to  draw  the  long  bow  in  his 
estimate  of  the  dangerous  condition  of  his  patients." 

"  Is  it  not,"  says  Roslyn,  "  that  he  is  inclined  to  take 
a  gloomy  view  of  their  condition  ?  I  have  often  noticed 
that,  in  cases  of  ordinary  sickness." 

"Perhaps  so,"  says  Mr.  Shelbourne.  "At  least" — 
he  smiles — "yours  is  a  more  charitable  explanation  than 
the  one  I  suggested." 

And  probably  it  is  the  correct  explanation  ;  for  when 


"HERE  IN  ONE  LINE  IS  HIS  NAME  WRIT."    197 

Dr.  Kirke  returns  to  the  breakfast-room  a  moment  later, 
and  resumes  his  place  at  table,  he  looks  very  much  more 
cheerful  than  he  has  looked  since  he  saw  Colonel  Duncan 
first,  and  says  at  once  : 

"His  pulse  is  stronger.  He  may  pull  through — if 
fever  doesn't  supervene  now." 

"  I  don't  think  that  likely  to  occur,"  says  Dr.  Chelm- 
son,  whose  sympathy  is  again  exhibited  by  Hoslyn's  face 
of  concern  at  this  suggestion.  "  The  worst  is  over,  I 
trust,"  he  adds,  encouragingly. 

"'Pray,  Mr.  Thorne,"  says  Dr.  Kirke,  after  finishing 
his  breakfast,  "  how  comes  Stanley  to  be  so  much  inter- 
ested in  Colonel  Duncan's  case?  I  was  not  aware  that 
there  was  the  most  ordinary  association  between  the  two 
men." 

"  There  is  not,"  replies  Geoffrey.  "  I  was  astonished 
at  Mr.  Stanley's  intruding  himself  here  last  night.  I 
wish  my  father  had  been  at  home,  and  he  would  never 
have  presumed  to  do  so.  He  knows  that  it  is  not  possi- 
ble for  a  man  of  my  age  to  treat  one  of  his  in  the  manner 
he  deserves  ;  and  he  takes  advantage  of  the  fact.  Why 
he  should  affect  an  interest  on  Colonel  Duncan's  account, 
I  don't  understand — unless  it  is  for  the  pure,  abstract 
pleasure  of  making  himself  disagreeable." 

"  His  interest  is  real,  not  affected,  I  fancy,"  says  Mr. 
Shelbourne,  dryly. 

Both  Dr.  Kirke  and  Geoffrey  look  at  the  speaker  in 
surprise ;  but,  before  there  is  time  to  ask  his  meaning, 
Colonel  Duncan's  servant  enters,  with  the  information 
that  his  master  has  "  come  to  his  senses,  and  asked  where 
he  is  and  what  is  the  matter." 

Geoffrey  and  Eoslyn  are  the  only  members  of  the 
party  who  do  not  move  precipitately  at  this  announce- 


198  HOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

ment.  Leaving  them  still  sitting  at  table,  Drs.  Kirke  and 
Clielmson,  and  Mr.  Shelbourne,  hurry  up-stairs  at  once. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  he  is  better — that  he  is  out  of  danger !  " 
says  Roslyn,  fervently.  "  Why  don't  you  go  and  see, 
Geoffrey  % " 

"  I  will  go  presently,"  he  replies ;  "  but  three  men 
are  enough  at  a  time  to  claim  his  attention,  I  think.  He 
ought  not  to  be  fatigued  or  excited,  I  am  sure." 

"  Of  course  not,"  assents  Roslyn.  Then,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence,  she  says,  thoughtfully,  "What  did  Mr. 
Shelbourne  mean  by  saying  that  Mr.  Stanley's  interest  in 
Colonel  Duncan  was  real,  not  affected  ? " 

"  You  are  too  hard  for  me,"  answers  Geoffrey,  with 
a  short  laugh.  "  I  can  not  conceive  what  he  meant — if 
he  was  in  earnest." 

"  He  did  not  speak  as  if  he  were  in  jest,"  says  Roslyn. 
"  I  was  amazed  when  Margery  told  me  that  that  man  had 
staid  here  last  night.  What  put  it  into  his  head  to  come, 
in  the  first  place,  I  wonder  ? " 

Geoffrey  shakes  his  head.  "  Impossible  to  say,"  he 
replies.  "  As  a  matter  of  course,  I  was  obliged  to  treat 
him  civilly ;  but  it  goes  awfully  against  the  grain  with 
me  to  do  so.  I  don't  think  I  could  tolerate  him  at  all,  if 
it  were  not  on  Lettice's  account." 

"He  may  thank  Lettice  for  most  of  the  toleration 
he  gets,"  says  Roslyn — "for  all  that  he  gets  from  any- 
body in  this  house.  As  for  his  wife,  she  brought  her  fate 
on  herself,  and  does  not  deserve  the  least  sympathy,  in 
my  opinion." 

Geoffrey  smiles.  "  Can't  you  imagine  any  excuse  for 
her  ?  "  he  says.  "  Stanley  is  just  the  sort  of  a  man  who 
must  have  been  exceedingly  attractive  to  women  in  his 
youth." 


"  HERE  IN  ONE  LINE  IS  HIS  NAME  WRIT:'    199 

"  How  can  you  say  so  ?  I  am  sure  he  must  always 
have  been  just  what  he  is  now — disgusting  ! ,: 

She  rises  from  the  table  as  she  says  this,  and  walks 
into  the  sitting-room.  At  the  same  moment,  they  hear 
somebody  coming  down-stairs ;  and  Geoffrey,  who  has 
followed  her,  goes  into  the  hall,  where  he  meets  Mr. 
Shelbourne. 

That  gentleman  seems  in  excellent  spirits.  "Poor 
Duncan  is  all  right  again  as  to  the  head,"  he  says ;  "  but 
I  am  afraid  he  will  have  trouble  with  that  shoulder  of 
his.  And  the  doctors  say  he  must  be  kept  perfectly 
quiet ;  must  avoid  excitement  of  every  kind.  I  wish  you 
would  see  to  this." 

"  I  will,"  says  Geoffrey. 

"  I  have  some  business  that  ought  to  be  attended  to 
this  morning,"  continues  Mr.  Shelbourne ;  "  and,  as  he 
seems  so  much  better,  I'll  borrow  a  horse  from  you  and 
ride  over  to  town.    Of  course,  I'll  be  back  this  evening." 

So  much  of  the  conversation  Roslyn  hears,  as  they 
walk  slowly  through  the  hall,  and  out  into  the  veranda, 
where  they  sit  down  to  wait  until  the  horse  which  Geof- 
frey orders  for  Mr.  Shelbourne  is  brought  around.  She, 
meanwhile,  chances  to  notice  a  letter  lying  on  the  table, 
and  is  reminded  by  the  sight  of  it  that  she  has  neither 
seen  nor  heard  anything  of  the  mail  this  morning  yet. 
Perhaps  it  arrived  before  she  came  down-stairs,  she  thinks, 
as  it  not  unfrequently  is  received  very  early — a  servant 
going  over  to  Kirton  for  it  every  morning,  and  generally 
returning  by  breakfast-time.  Geoffrey  may  have  left  this 
letter  here.  She  picks  it  up — it  is  lying  with  the  direc- 
tion down — to  see  if  it  is  for  herself. 

It  is  not,  she  finds.  It  is  addressed,  "  Yictor  Laurent, 
Esq." 


200  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

With  an  almost  ludicrous  expression  of  surprise,  she 
stands  looking  at  the  name.  Who  could  have  been  writ- 
ing to  Laurent  ?  It  has  evidently  just  been  written,  for 
it  has  neither  stamp  nor  post-mark.  If  Colonel  Duncan 
had  not  been  insensible,  she  might  suppose  that  it  was 
done  by  his  request ;  but,  since  he  only  recovered  con- 
sciousness a  few  minutes  before,  this  is  impossible.  Could 
Mr.  Shelbourne  have  thought  it  necessary  to  apprise 
Laurent  of  the  accident,  expecting  it  to  prove  fatal  ? 

All  these  conjectures  are  comprised,  as  it  were,  in  one 
flash  of  thought — her  first  thought.  Her  second  thought 
is,  "  Mr.  Stanley ! " — and  she  drops  the  letter  as  if  its 
touch  soiled  her  fingers ;  but  her  eyes  still  rest  on  the 
name  with  a  sort  of  fascination.  There  is  a  fascination 
to  her  in  that  name  ! — the  first  sound  or  sight  of  it  always 
recalls  so  vividly  the  man  himself.  But,  after  a  moment, 
she  thinks  a  little.  Even  in  the  recollection  of  the  man 
himself  there  is  much  that  is  not  pleasurable. 

As  we  are  aware,  from  the  very  first  evening  that  she 
saw  him,  her  sentiments  toward  Laurent  have  been  very 
mixed  and  varying.  While  keenly  sensible  to  that  per- 
sonal power  of  attraction  which  he  possesses  in  a  remark- 
able degree,  she  has  always  felt  a  certain  uncomfortable 
sense  of  doubt,  that  at  times  has  amounted  to  positive 
distrust,  and  has  never  at  any  moment  left  her  mind,  not 
even  when  her  fancy  was  most  thralled  and  dazzled. 
Latterly  this  distrust  has  been  growing  and  strengthen- 
ing. His  strange  silence,  his  prolonged  absence,  and  the 
remarks  of  many  of  his  acquaintances  whom  she  met  dur- 
ing her  summer  wanderings — all  have  conspired  to  shake 
more  and  more  the  faith  to  which  she  has  clung,  and  yet 
clings.  For  it  is  the  instinct  of  love — whether  it  be  true 
or  false  love,  genuine  passion  or  any  of  the  counterfeits 


"  HEBE  IN  ONE  LINE  IS  HIS  NAME  WRIT."    201 

tliat  often  deceive  the  lover  himself — to  be  incredulous  of 
all  accusations  made  against  its  idol ;  and  this  instinct 
has  been  strong  with  her  throughout  the  whole  course 
of  her  acquaintance  with  Laurent — notwithstanding  the 
counter-current  of  secret  doubt  already  alluded  to.  She 
listened  to  the  gossip  she  could  not  avoid  hearing,  just  as 
she  had  listened  to  Geoffrey's  earnest  warning — with  re- 
pressed indignation  and  annoyance,  and  also  with  some 
willful  blindness.  .  With  an  "unacknowledged  feeling  that 
there  was  partial  truth  in  what  was  said,  she  still  believes 
that  jealousy  on  the  part  of  Geoffrey,  and  envy  and  ill- 
nature  on  that  of  the  gossiping  people  she  met,  had  much 
to  do  with  the  matter.  And  so,  up  to  this  time,  she  has 
never  willingly  thought  ill  of  her  fascinating  lover. 

J^ow,  however,  as  she  stands  motionless  by  the  table, 
with  her  gaze  fixed  upon  vacancy,  she  is  thinking  of  the 
many  things  concerning  Laurent  which  she  heard  unwill- 
ingly, and  unwillingly  remembers  ;  and  the  hope  she  has 
always  cherished,  that  he  wrould  ultimately  prove  the  in- 
justice of  it  all — prove  that  he  loves  her  better  than  he 
does  his  cousin's  fortune — this  hope  is  shaken  to  its  foun- 
dation. There  is  something  almost  like  contempt  in  her 
face  as  she  turns  away  and  walks  to  a  window. 

Glancing  out,  she  sees  Geoffrey  and  Mr.  Shelbourne 
standing  on  the  gravel-walk  before  the  house.  The  lat- 
ter is  putting  on  his  gloves,  and  the  next  minute  mounts 
the  horse  a  servant  is  holding  for  him,  nods  to  Geoffrey, 
and  rides  away. 

Roslyn  watches  Geoffrey,  with  a  look  of  indecision,  as 
he  comes  up  the  steps,  enters  the  house,  and  is  evidently 
taking  his  way  up-stairs.  He  has  passed  the  door  of  the 
sitting-room,  when  suddenly  her  resolution  is  taken,  and 
she  hurries  after  him. 


202  BOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Geoffrey !  "  she  says,  rather  hesitatingly.  "  Are  you 
going  up  to  see  Colonel  Duncan  now  ? ,:  she  asks,  as  he 
turns  and  pauses  at  the  sound  of  her  voice. 

"  I  was  going  ;  but  I  am  not  in  a  particular  hurry,  if 
you  want  anything  with  me/'  he  answers,  coming  to  her 
side. 

"  No,"  she  says  ;  but  adds  almost  immediately  :  "  Yes, 
I  do — I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  Come  here  a  min- 
ute, please." 

As  he  follows  her  into  the  room,  she  points  to  the  let- 
ter lying  on  the  table.  "  How  did  that  come  here  ? "  she 
inquires.     "  Do  you  know  who  wrote  it  ? " 

Geoffrey  looks  a  little  surprised — more  at  her  manner 
than  at  the  presence  of  the  letter,  which  he  takes  up  as 
he  answers,  "  No,  I  did  not  notice  it  before."  He  glances 
at  the  superscription,  and  there  is  a  sudden  flash  of  intel- 
ligence in  his  eyes ;  but  he  only  says,  in  a  matter-of-course 
tone: 

"  This  is  Mr.  Stanley's  writing.  I  suppose  he  amused 
his  leisure  last  night  by  writing  to  Mr.  Laurent,  and  for- 
got to  take  his  letter  away  with  him  this  morning  when 
he  left."  He  tosses  the  letter  carelessly  back  on  the  table 
as  he  adds  :  "  Now  I  will  go  up  and  see  Duncan,  and  will 
come  back  and  let  you  know  how  he  is  getting  on.  The 
doctors  are  still  with  him." 

"  You  will  find  me  in  the  garden,"  Roslyn  says.  "  I 
am  going  to  gather  some  roses  for  him." 


"HE  WILL   COME."  203 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


"he  will  come." 


Half  an  hour  afterward,  when  Geoffrey  goes  to  look 
for  her  in  the  garden,  he  is  not  a  little  shocked  to  see,  as 
she  glances  up  at  the  sound  of  his  approaching  steps,  that 
her  eyes  are  full  of  tears.  She  is  sitting  in  a  listless  atti- 
tude ;  the  roses  she  has  been  gathering  are  heaped  beside 
her  on  the  rustic  seat  she  occupies ;  her  hands  are  lying 
idly  in  her  lap  ;  altogether,  her  aj)pearance  gives  the  idea 
of  profound  dejection. 

Such  a  mood  seems  to  Geoffrey  so  unnatural  in  Hoslyn 
— is  so  utterly  unprecedented  in  all  his  experience — that 
he  looks  aghast  for  an  instant,  and  then  advances  impul- 
sively, exclaiming : 

"  What  is  the  matter  %  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  cry- 
ing, Koslyn  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  crying  a  little,"  she  answers,  with 
a  smile  that  looks  as  unfamiliar  as  does  her  air  of  depres- 
sion— a  smile  half -amused,  half -sad.  "  But  pray  don't  be 
alarmed,"  she  goes  on.  "  There  is  nothing  alarming  in 
the  matter,  I  assure  you.     How  is  Colonel  Duncan  ? " 

"  Better.  I  suppose  the  danger  is  over  for  the  pres- 
ent, if  he  can  be  prevailed  upon  to  be  prudent.  But  I 
am  afraid  that  will  be  difficult,  with  a  man  not  at  all  ac- 
customed to  illness  or  confinement  of  any  sort." 

"  You  suppose  the  danger  is  over  for  the  present  ? ' 
repeats  Boslyn.     "  What  do  you  mean  %     I  don't  under- 
stand." 


204  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Why,  you  know  there  is  a  charge  of  shot  scattered 
under  and  about  the  shoulder-blade,  which  ought  to  be 
removed  ;  but,  as  any  further  loss  of  blood  just  now 
would  be  certain  death,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done 
but  to  let  the  wound  heal  without  touching  it.  Then, 
when  his  strength  is  entirely  restored,  these  shot  will 
have  to  be  extracted — some  of  them,  at  least.  The  doc- 
tors were  torturing  his  shoulder  when  I  went  in — that  is, 
Chelmson  was  replacing  the  bandages  which  were  neces- 
sarily put  on  so  hurriedly  yesterday  evening  as  to  cause 
great  pain.  The  wound  is  doing  very  well,  they  say  ; 
and  there  is  no  indication,  as  yet,  of  fever.  But  old 
Kirke  is  so  strenuous  in  his  orders  about  quiet,  that  I  see 
they  are  afraid  it  may  come  on." 

"  How  does  he  look  ?  "  asks  Roslyn. 

"  Like  Seneca's  wife,"  is  the  reply. 

"  So  very  pale  ? " 

"  Pale  is  not  the  word,"  answers  Geoffrey.  "  Liter- 
ally, there  is  no  more  life-color  in  his  face  and  hands  than 
there  is  in  that  linen" — pointing  to  her  handkerchief, 
which  lies  on  the  bench  beside  the  roses.  "  Of  course, 
his  skin  is  not  precisely  that  tint — though,  comparatively 
speaking,  it  is  very  wThite ;  which,"  he  adds,  "  is  not  sur- 
prising, considering  the  amount  of  blood  he  lost.  I  did 
not  think  there  was  as  much  blood  in  a  man's  wrhole  body 
as  flowed  from  his  wound." 

"  Does  he  talk  much  ?  " 

Geoffrey  shakes  his  head.  "  He  doesn't  talk  at  all — he 
is  too  weak.  He  kept  his  eyes  shut  while  they  were  ma- 
nipulating his  shoulder,  and  showed  no  sign  of  what  he 
was  suffering,  except  that  his  lips  were  compressed.  The 
pain  must  have  been  acute." 

"  How  dreadful  all  this  sounds !  "  says  Eoslyn,  with 


"HE  WILL   COME:1  205 

something  of  a  shudder.  "  I  can't  imagine  Colonel  Dun- 
can in  such  a  helpless  condition.  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  for 
him,  Geoffrey !  To  think  of  being  shut  up  in  a  dark 
room,  with  two  physicians  mounting  guard  over  one, 
on  such  a  day  as  this !  " — she  looks  around  at  the  mellow 
beauty  of  the  autumn  morning.  "  And  I  suppose  it  will 
be  some  time  before  he  is  perfectly  well  again  \ " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  says  Geoffrey. 

He  speaks  rather  absently.  He  is  thinking  of  the 
day  before,  when,  just  at  this  hour,  Roslyn  and  himself 
were  walking  through  the  woods  together,  and  he  was 
confidently  counting  upon  a  month  of  happiness.  Colo- 
nel Duncan's  accident  is  certainly  no  personal  grief  to 
him — though  he  is  more  moved  by  sympathy  and  com- 
passion for  the  wounded  man  than  he  would  have  believed 
possible — but  the  houleversement  of  the  household  and 
Roslyn's  anxiety  have  effectually  put  an  end  to  any  plans 
of  pleasure. 

"' Uhomme  jwoposej"  he  says,  abruptly.  "You 
were  right,  after  all,  Roslyn.  Something  has  occurred 
to  interfere  with  that  month  of  happiness  on  which  I 
was  reckoning  so  confidently  yesterday." 

"  Ah,  yes !  I  warned  you,"  says  Roslyn,  in  a  tone  of 
rej^roach.  "  I  felt  that  you  were  too  confident.  I  was 
afraid  that  something  would  happen — because  you  were 


so  sure." 


"  Because  I  was  so  sure  ! "  repeats  Geoffrey.  "  Why, 
this  is  rank  superstition.  Do  you  really  believe  that 
Colonel  Duncan  shot  himself  because  I  had  determined 
upon  a  month  of  happiness  ? " 

"  Of  course  not — how  absurd  !  But  it  is  not  right  to 
be  so  confident.     It  is  like  tempting  Fate." 

"  "Well,  I  shall  remember  this  experience,  and  be  more 


206  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

cautious  in  future.  But  I  meant  no  harm.  I  only  wanted 
one  more  month  of  simple  pleasures,  such  as  we  have 
known,  to  look  back  upon.  But  I  am  not  to  have  it. 
That  is  very  plain  now." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  Colonel  Duncan  may  soon  be  well." 

"  He  may — and  again  he  may  not.  But,  in  any  event, 
he  has  ended  my  hope  of  an  idyllic  four  weeks  of  happi- 
ness— confound  him !  " 

"  Geoff ! " 

"  Why  should  I  not  confound  him  ?  He  could  not 
have  played  me  a  worse  trick  if  he  had  done  it  purposely. 
All  the  family  will  rush  back  as  soon  as  they  hear  how 
we  are  situated  here :  if  I  had  remembered  that  in  time 
I  should  certainly  have  taken  him  to  Cliffton." 

"  No,  you  would  not,"  says  Roslyn.  "  Why  do  you 
talk  so  ?  Why  do  you  try  to  make  yourself  out  so  much 
worse  than  you  are  ?  You  can  not  deceive  me.  And  I 
think  that  to  have  helped  Colonel  Duncan  as  promptly 
and  well  as  you  did,  is  better  than  a  month  of  foolish, 
idle  riding  and  walking  and  talking." 

"  Foolish ! "  says  Geoffrey,  gloomily.  "  You  may  call 
it  so  if  you  like,  but  it  would  not  have  been  foolish  to 
me.  However,  that  is  not  the  worst."  He  pauses,  hesi- 
tates, then  goes  on  almost  harshly,  "  The  worst  is  that 
Laurent  will  come." 

Roslvn  starts.  "Why  should  you  think  that?"  she 
asks,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Do  you  need  to  ask?"  Geoffrey  answers.  "You 
saw  that  letter.  Stanley — confound  him,  for  his  officious- 
ness! — wrote,  no  doubt,  to  tell  the  news,  which  will  be 
good  news  to  Mr.  Laurent.  You  think  I  am  unjust  ? " 
— as  she  looks  at  him  quickly  and  reproachfully — "  but 
I  have  remembered  something,  which  is  what  Mr.  Shel- 


"HE  WILL   COME."  207 

bourne  meant  at  breakfast.  Laurent  is  Colonel  Duncan's 
heir — the  property  is  entailed  on  him.  Of  course,  there- 
fore, news  of  the  latter's  death  would  be  good  news  to — " 

"  Geoffrey  ! "  she  turns  on  him  indignantly.  "  You 
have  no  right  to  say  such  a  thing — no  right  at  all !  It  is 
cruel — it  is  unjust !  What  has  Mr.  Laurent  ever  done 
that  you  should  think  him  capable  of  such  baseness  ! " 

Geoffrey  does  not  answer  for  a  moment.  He  is  struck 
dumb  by  the  strength  of  her  emotion.  A  suspicion  that 
she  might  not  have  forgotten  Laurent  was  one  thing ; 
this  passionate  confirmation  of  his  worst  fears  is  quite 
another.  He  absolutely  turns  pale  as  he  looks  at  her — 
not  understanding  her  fully,  yet  understanding  enough 
to  make  his  heart  cold. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  accuse  him  of  baseness,"  he  says, 
at  length.  "It  is  the  way  of  the  world :  men  do  not 
usually  mourn  for  those  whom  they  succeed  in  an  in- 
heritance. And  there  are  special  reasons  here.  But  I 
would  not  have  mentioned  the  subject  if  I  had  thought 
you  would — mind  so  much." 

"  Mind  !  "  says  Roslyn,  with  trembling  lips.  "  Of 
course,  I  mind.  Whatever  Mr.  Laurent  may  or  may  not 
be,  we  have  no  right  to  think  that  of  him.  And  Colonel 
Duncan — you  talk  as  if  he  were  going  to  die,  when  the 
doctors  believe  that  he  will  get  well." 

"  That  he  may  get  well,"  Geoffrey  corrects.  "  He  is 
not  out  of  danger  yet.  But,  whether  he  lives  or  dies, 
Laurent  will  come.     I  am  sure  of  that." 

Roslyn  is  silent.  She,  too,  is  sure ;  yet  in  her  heart 
she  shrinks  from  the  certainty.  For  him  to  be  brought 
in  this  way,  it  seems  worse  than  that  he  should  never 
come  at  all. 

Suddenly  Geoffrey  rises  to  his  feet.     "  Yonder  comes 


208  EOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

Lettice,"  he  says.  "  I  think,  Roslyn,  you  had  better  get 
her  to  stay  with  you.  This  unfortunate  state  of  affairs 
depresses  you  too  much.  As  for  me,  I  must  go  and  look 
after  the  doctors,  who  are  staying  to  watch  Colonel  Dun- 
can." 

When  Lettice  approaches  the  seat,  where  Roslyn  re- 
mains without  stirring,  Geoffrey's  figure  is  still  in  sight, 
crossing  the  lawn  toward  the  house.  She  looks  after  it, 
but  makes  no  comment,  and,  after  an  exchange  of  greet- 
ings, sits  down  by  Koslyn. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,"  she  says,  gently.  "  It  would 
be  bad  enough  to  hear  of  such  a  dreadful  accident  to  one 
you  know  so  well.  But  to  have  the  dying  man  absolutely 
under  your  roof — that  is  dreadful !  " 

"He  is  not  a  dying  man,"  says  Roslyn,  quickly. 
"  The  doctors  are  agreed  that  he  is  better,  and  may  re- 
cover— have  you  not  heard  'I  " 

"  "No.  When  papa  came  home  he  said  he  would  cer- 
tainly die." 

"  So  the  doctors  thought  last  night ;  but  there  is  a 
change  for  the  better,  and  they  say  now  that,  with  care, 
he  may  get  well." 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it.  Poor  Colonel  Duncan ! 
It  seemed  terrible  to  think  of  his  dying — so !  But,  Ros- 
lyn,  it  is  still  very  hard  for  you,  his  being  here — " 

"  Oh,  no,"  Koslyn  interposes.  "  I  am  glad  he  is  here ; 
it  is  such  a  little  thing  to  do." 

"  But  it  is  not  as  if  your  parents  were  at  home,"  Let- 
tice persists.  "  Mamma  and  I  have  been  talking  of  it, 
and  she  has  sent  me  to  say  that  she  will  come  gladly  to 
stay  with  you,  if — if  you  care  for  her  to  do  so." 

"  Mrs.  Stanley  is  very  kind,"  says  Roslyn,  to  whom 


"HE  WILL   COME:'  209 

such  an  offer  is  at  once  astonishing  and  embarrassing ;  for 
Mrs.  Stanley,  who  is  not  a  capable  person  in  her  own 
household,  would  certainly  prove  a  most  incapable  and 
troublesome  one  in  such  a  household  as  that  of  Yerde- 
vale  at  the  present  time.  "It  is  very  good  of  her  to 
think  of  inconvenienciug  herself  so  much  —  she  who 
never  leaves  home,"  the  girl  goes  on ;  "  but  really  I  do 
not  see  any  reason  why  I  should  allow  her  to  trouble 
herself  so  greatly.  Nobody  is  thinking  of  me — indeed, 
I  might  leave  home  myself,  only  that  somebody  must 
look  after  the  housekeeping,  now  that  Mrs.  Knight  is 
confined  to  Colonel  Duncan's  room ;  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  it  would  be  very  foolish  to  think  of  snch  trivialities 
as  a  shade  of  propriety,  more  or  less,  at  such  a  time." 

"  We  did  not  intend  to  imply  that  there  is  any  im- 
propriety in  the  position,"  says  Lettice  ;  "  but  I — that  is, 
we  thought  you  might  feel  lonely  and  uncomfortable, 
with  the  house  so  full  of  men,  and  that  you  would  like 
to  have  some  one — some  elderly  lady — with  you." 

"  I  have  not  had  time  to  think  of  myself,"  says  Ros- 
lyn,  simply,  "and  I  doubt  if  I  shall  have  time  before 
mamma  comes — as,  of  course,  she  will  come  at  once. 
Thank  your  mother  for  me,  Lettice — I  shall  not  forget 
her  kindness ;  but  I  do  not  feel  that  there  is  any  reason 
why  I  should  put  her  to  so  much  inconvenience.  I  have 
no  compunction,  however,  in  keeping  you  with  me  as 
long  as  you  can  stay,  and  you  have  come  for  the  day, 
have  you  not  % " 

"  I  will  come  back,  if  you  want  me,"  Lettice  answers : 

"  but,  no — I  did  not  come,  intending  to  stay.     I  came  to 

deliver  mamma's  message,  to  see  how  Colonel  Duncan 

is,  and — to  get  a  letter  which  papa  left  here  this  morn- 
•      ^ 

lDg. 


210  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Yes,"  says  Roslyn.  A  flush  comes  to  her  face,  but 
she  speaks  quietly.  "  I  saw  a  letter  which  he  left  on  the 
sitting-room  table.     Shall  we  go  and  get  it  ? " 

Lettice  assenting,  they  rise  and  walk  toward  the  house 
— their  voices  falling  to  a  hushed  tone  as  they  approach 
and  look  up  at  the  closed  blinds  of  Colonel  Duncan's 
chamber.  Lettice  gives  her  head  a  little  shake.  "  It  is 
strange  that  he  should  have  been  brought  here,"  she 
observes,  "and  not  pleasant  for  you,  Roslyn — say  what 
you  will." 

"  I  never  said  it  was  pleasant,"  Roslyn  answers ;  "  but 
I  did  say,  and  I  repeat,  that  I  am  glad  he  is  here,  because 
Mrs.  Knight  is  a  better  nurse  than  any  he  could  have  had 
at  Cliffton,  and  I — am  of  a  little  use.  I  can  see  that  the 
doctors  have  all  that  they  want  or  need.  But  here  we 
are.  Come  in,  and  let  me  see  if  the  letter  is  still  where 
your  father  left  it,  or  if  some  servant  has  misplaced  it." 

The  letter  is  still  lying  where  it  first  met  her  eye ;  and, 
having  pointed  it  out,  she  hesitates  for  an  instant,  then 
with  an  effort  says,  hastily : 

u  I  could  not  avoid  seeing  to  whom  it  is  addressed, 
Lettice ;  and,  since  your  father  wrote  it  last  night,  when 
Colonel  Duncan  was  believed  to  be  dying,  I  think  he 
should  add  a  postscript,  telling  Mr.  Laurent  that  the  doc- 
tors now  think  he  may  recover." 

Lettice  nods.  "  Certainly,  that  should  be  done,"  she 
says,  "  and  I  will  endeavor  to  see  that  it  is  done.  But 
don't  deceive  yourself,  Eoslyn.  "When  Mr.  Laurent  re- 
ceives this  letter,  he  will  come." 


A    WILLFUL  MAN.  211 


CHAPTEK  XXIII. 

A   WILLFUL   MAN. 

The  next  morning  the  physicians  pronounce  Colonel 
Duncan  decidedly  better. 

"  Not  out  of  danger,  however,"  says  Dr.  Kirke,  at  the 
breakfast-table.  "  The  least  imprudence  would  bring  on 
fever — and  the  worst  sort  of  fever — a  low  typhoid  form. 
But  he  is  progressing  favorably  so  far,  and  if  he  will  be 
very  careful — avoid  all  exertion  and  excitement — why,  he 
will  do  very  well  now. — Don't  let  him  talk  about  busi- 
ness " — this  to  Mr.  Shelbourne.  "  I  see  he  is  inclined  to  be 
unruly  on  that  point.  He  asked  for  you  yesterday — said 
he  must  see  you  about  some  business  matter  of  urgent 
importance — and  we  had  no  little  difficulty  in  putting 
him  off.  I  was  glad  you  were  not  here  ;  and  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  will  be  to  go  to  town  without  seeing 
him  again  this  morning.  He  must  not  talk  or  think  about 
anything  exciting — I  mean  anything  that  would  excite 
his  mind  to  active  thought.  Perfect  quiescence  of  mind 
and  body  is  what  he  needs  at  present. — Mr.  Thorne,  I 
wish  you  would  remember  this.  Don't  talk  to  him,  or 
let  him  talk  to  you.  As  to  his  diet,  Mrs.  Knight  will  at- 
tend to  that,  and  will  give  him  what  little  medicine  he 
has  to  take.  She's  a  capital  nurse.  It's  very  fortunate 
that  she  happens  to  be  here." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  says  Geoffrey,  smiling.  "  But 
I  agree  with  you  in  thinking  that  your  patient  is  inclined 
to  be  willful.     You  must  not  hold  me  responsible  if  he 


212  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

injures  himself.  If  he  insists  on  talking,  for  instance, 
what  can  I  do  to  prevent  it  ? " 

"  Tell  him  that  it's  against  mj  orders  ;  and  then  walk 
out  of  the  room." 

"  You  are  always  for  high-handed  measures,  Dr. 
Kirke,"  says  Roslyn,  laughing.  "  You  always  treat  your 
patients  as  if  they  were  refractory  children." 

"  Only  when  they  are  refractory,"  answers  the  doctor ; 
"  and  then  they  deserve  to  be  treated  so.  When  a  man 
calls  me  in  as  a  medical  practitioner,  it  is  my  business  to 
tell  him  what  to  do — and  his  to  do  what  I  tell  him." 

"  But  human  nature  is  weak,"  says  Roslyn  ;  "  and, 
when  one  is  ill,  it  is  very  hard  to  be  patient  and  reason- 
able, I  think." 

"  Very  hard,  indeed,"  says  Dr.  Chelmson,  looking  at 
his  brother  physician  with  a  smile.  "  Dr.  Kirke  will  con- 
cede that,  I  am  sure." 

"  It  is  necessary,"  responds  Dr.  Kirke,  uncompromis- 
ingly— ignoring  the  fact  that  he  is  himself  the  most  im- 
patient of  men  when  he  is  ill ;  "  and  such  being  the  case, 
a  man  of  sense  will  be  reasonable,  whether  he  is  patient 
or  not." 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  that,"  says  Mr.  Shelbourne.  "  There's 
as  much  difference  between  Philip  ill  and  Philip  well, 
as  between  Philip  drunk  and  Philip  sober.  For  instance, 
I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  a  mild-mannered  man  when  I 
am  well,  and  not  a  fool ;  but  let  my  familiar  demon  tic 
lay  his  finger  on  one  of  my  cheek-bones,  and  I  am  as 
irascible  as  any  fool  you  could  find  ;  and  as  intractable  to 
control." 

"  I  can  certify  to  the  truth  of  that  statement,"  says 
Dr.  Kirke,  dryly  ;  "  but  there  is  some  excuse  for  a  man's 
irascibility,  when  tic-douloureux  is  gnawing  his  facial 


A    WILLFUL  MAN.  213 

nerves.  Colonel  Duncan  will  have  no  such  pain  as  that 
to  support — no  pain  at  all,  to  speak  of — unless  he  should 
bring  on  fever  by  some  inexcusable  imprudence.  All 
that  he  has  to  do  for  the  present  is  to  keep  quiet — per- 
fectly quiet." 

"  Will  not  he  be  more  likely  to  satisfy  you  in  this  re- 
spect," asks  Geoffrey,  "  if  he  is  allowed  to  see  Mr.  Shel- 
bourne,  and  say  whatever  it  is  that  he  wants  to  say,  than 
if  he  is  kept  from  doing  so  ?  I  should  think  it  might  be 
more  injurious  to  a  sick  person  to  be  thwarted  in  his 
humor,  than  to  make  a  temporary  exertion  in  gratifying 

it." 

"  You  are  right,"  says  Dr.  Chelmson,  decidedly—"  eh, 
Kirke  ? " 

The  latter  hesitates  a  moment ;  then  he  replies  a  little 
reluctantly :  "  Well,  yes ;  he  ought  not  to  be  thwarted, 
certainly — for  that  is  the  sort  of  thing  to  irritate  and  ex- 
cite him.  If  his  mind  is  set  upon  it,  I  suppose  he  must 
have  his  own  way.  I'll  see,  however,  if  I  can't  induce 
him  to  put  off  attending  to  business  until  he  is  better  able 
to  talk." 

Accordingly,  when  he  pays  his  parting  visit  to  Colo- 
nel Duncan  after  breakfast,  before  leaving  for  the  day, 
Dr.  Kirke  endeavors  to  convince  that  gentleman  of  the 
propriety  of  letting  business  matters  take  care  of  them- 
selves for  the  present. 

"  The  more  entirely  you  discharge  your  mind  of  all 
thought  whatever,"  he  says,  '*  the  better  it  will  be  for 
you.  Every  exertion  you  make,  whether  physical  or 
mental,  accelerates  the  circulation,  and  thereby  increases 
the  danger  of  fever,  you  see.  Nor  is  it  merely  fever 
which  we  apprehend — though,  in  your  weak  state,  that 
would  be  dangerous,  to  say  the  least.     But,  besides  this, 


214  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

we  have  another  thing  to  consider.  We  find  that  a  stray 
shot  glanced  from  the  direction  which  the  others  took, 
and  lodged  in  the  arm-pit — in  close  proximity  to  the  bra- 
chial artery.  This  is  serious.  We  have  not  yet  ascer- 
tained its  exact  location,  because  it  is  impossible  to  do 
anything  about  it  at  present,  and  it  would  be  useless, 
therefore,  as  well  as  injurious  to  harass  you  by  an  exami- 
nation. The  moment  that  your  strength  permits,  we  will 
see  to  it,  as  we  fear  the  formation  of  an  aneurism.  I  need 
not  explain  what  the  result  of  that  would  be  if  not  at- 
tended to  in  time." 

"I  understand,"  says  the  wounded  man,  in  a  faint 
Yoice.  "  I  heard  what  Dr.  Chelmson  said  on  the  subject 
yesterday  morning ;  and  that  is  why  I  am  so  anxious  to 
accomplish  this  business,  which  is  important.  It  is  to 
make  my  will." 

"  To  do  so  is,  I  hope  and  believe,  unnecessary,"  says 
Dr.  Kirke,  with  gravity.  "  If  I  see  reason  to  change  my 
opinion  on  this  point,  I  will  give  you  immediate  warning 
of  the  fact." 

Colonel  Duncan  smiles  faintly. 

"  Let  me  see  Shelbourne  for  five  minutes,"  he  says. 
"  I  will  not  excite  myself,  I  promise  you.  A  few  words 
will  explain  all  that  is  requisite ;  and,  when  the  thing  is 
done,  my  mind  will  be  tranquil — which  is  not  the  case 
while  it  remains  undone." 

"  Yery  well,"  says  the  doctor ;  but  he  does  not  look 
or  speak  as  if  he  thought  such  obstinacy  well.  "  A  will- 
ful man  must  have  his  way,  I  suppose.  I  will  go  and 
send  Mr.  Shelbourne  here ;  but,  recollect,  I  warn  you 
distinctly  that,  in  exerting  and  exciting  yourself,  you  are 
risking  your  life." 

He  puts  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  the  hand  that  lies 


A    WILLFUL  MAN.  215 

like  a  piece  of  marble — as  white,  almost,  and  as  inanimate- 
looking — on  the  coverlet,  and  finds  it,  though  very  lan- 
guid, increased  perceptibly  in  strength  since  he  felt  it 
last,  about  two  hours  before. 

"  Your  pulse  is  improving,"  he  exclaims,  with  satisfac- 
tion. "  You  are  doing  very  well  indeed ;  so  well,  that  I 
can  conscientiously  assure  you  that  you  may  safely  let  the 
making  of  your  will  stand  over  for  the  present.  How- 
ever " — seeing  the  expression  of  his  patient's  countenance 
— "  since  you  are  so  set  on  it,  it  may  be  better  for  you  to 
get  it  off  your  mind." 

Colonel  Duncan  proceeds  to  do  this  in  the  most  ex- 
peditious manner  possible,  when,  a  few  minutes  afterward, 
Mr.  Shelbourne  appears  at  his  bedside.  He  was  never  a 
man  to  waste  words  needlessly  about  anything ;  and  on 
the  present  occasion  he  says  tersely,  speaking  slowly,  and 
with  evident  effort : 

"  Shelbourne,  I  want  you  to  write  my  will." 

"  Yery  well,"  replies  Mr.  Shelbourne,  sitting  down  at 
a  table  and  drawing  pen,  ink,  and  paper  toward  him. 
"  Give  me  your  instructions,  and  I  will  put  them  in  legal 
form.  I  suppose  " — he  hesitates  an  instant — "  that  I  need 
not  remind  you  that  you  have  power  to  dispose  of  only 
part  of  your  estate  ? " 

"  I  have  not  forgotten,"  Duncan  answers.  "  It  is 
what  renders  this  so  essential.  If  I  die  intestate,  Laurent 
will  inherit  everything.  Xow,  Cliffton  must  be  his — 
there  is  no  help  for  that ;  but  I  am  not  inclined  to  endow 
him  with  anything  else.  Write,  then,  Shelbourne,  that 
I  give  and  bequeath  all  of  which  I  die  possessed — both 
real  and  personal  estate — to  Roslyn  Vardray." 

The  lawyer  elevates  his  eyebrows,  and  pauses  for  an 
almost  imperceptible  space  of  time  before  he  puts  his  pen 


216  B0SLY1PS  FORTUNE. 

to  the  paper  before  him.  It  is  on  the  end  of  his  tongue 
to  say — for,  like  every  one  else,  he  has  heard  something 
of  current  gossip — "  My  poor  friend,  is  it  possible  that 
yon  are  not  aware  that  by  this  means  yon  will  endow 
Laurent  with  all  you  j)ossess  ?  "  But  he  remembers  the 
doctor's  caution,  he  looks  at  the  pale  face  on  the  pillow, 
and  holds  his  peace.  •  After  all,  is  it  likely  that  Duncan 
is  unaware  of  wThat  every  one  else  knows  ?  He  shrugs 
his  shoulders  and  proceeds  to  write. 

"  Add,"  says  Duncan,  after  a  minute's  silence,  "  that 
I  desire  she  shall  have  uncontrolled  possession  of  the 
property  as  long  as  she  remains  unmarried,  but  that  when 
she  marries  her  estate  shall  be  settled  on  herself  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  its  alienation 
from  her,  even  by  her  own  act." 

"  Ah !  "  says  Mr.  Shelbourne,  involuntarily.  He  is 
quite  certain  now  that  Duncan  does  know  all  that  he  or 
any  one  else  knows.  But,  without  further  comment,  he 
writes,  then  pauses  and  asks  if  these  are  all  his  instruc- 
tions. 

"  Yes ;  I  have  not  strength  for  more  now,"  Duncan 
answers.  "  That  is  all  which  is  essential.  Make  it  ready 
for  my  signature  at  once." 

"  You  shall  have  it  in  half  an  hour,"  the  lawyer  an- 
swers. But,  as  he  leaves  the  room,  he  says  to  himself, 
"  I  hope  that  you  may  live — to  destroy  it." 

Having  thus  made  his  arrangements  to  die,  Colonel 
Duncan  proceeds  to  gratify  his  friends  and  physicians  by 
rapidly  getting  better.  In  the  course  of  a  day  or  two  he 
is  so  much  improved  that  when  Mr.  Vardray — whom  the 
news  of  the  accident  at  once  brings — arrives  at  Verdevale, 
he  finds  a  man  who  seems  on  the  high-road  to  recovery. 


A    WILLFUL  MAN.  217 

For  Roslyn  was  right  in  supposing  that  her  parents 
would  hasten  home  immediately ;  only,  instead  of  Mrs. 
Yardray — who  is  detained  by  the  illness  of  one  of  the 
children — it  is  Mrs.  Arden  who  accompanies  her  father. 

"  O  Aunt  Lavinia,  this  is  very  good  of  you ! "  she 
says,  gratefully.     ';  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come !  " 

"  Since  Ellen  could  not  leave  Effie,  I  felt  that  I  must 
come  ;  for  it  is  out  of  all  question  for  you  to  be  left  here 
alone,"  the  kind-hearted  lady  answers.  "  I  am  afraid  it 
has  already  been  too  much  for  you.  Poor  child !  you 
look  pale." 

"  Do  I '{ '  with  slight  surprise.  "  Then  it  must  be 
only  because  of  fright  and  anxiety.  I  am  very  well ; 
but  it  will  be  a  great  relief  to  know  that  you  are  here. 
It  is  not  that  I  have  really  needed  any  one — at  least,  not 
for  practical  help.     But  I  have  needed  moral  support." 

"I  should  think  so,  indeed!  "  says  Mrs.  Arden,  with 
a  laugh.  "A  wounded  man,  a  couple  of  doctors,  and 
half  a  dozen  other  men,  more  or  less,  might  well  make 
you  feel  the  need  of  moral  support.  It  is  most  unfortu- 
nate that  we  all  left  when  we  did,  or  that  Colonel  Dun- 
can had  not  shot  himself  a  day  earlier." 

"  My  dear  aunt !  " 

"  My  dear  Eoslyn,  if  the  shooting  was  a  settled  matter, 
why  should  it  not  have  occurred  a  day  earlier  ?  I  am  sure, 
if  I  had  my  way,  it  should  not  have  occurred  at  all ;  but, 
if  it  was  to  be,  the  convenience  of  all  parties  concerned 
might,  it  seems  to  me,  have  been  better  consulted." 

"  If  it  had  been  a  day  earlier,"  says  Koslyn,  "  Geoffrey 
wonld  not  have  been  here  to  find  Colonel  Duncan,  and 
— and  he  might  have  bled  to  death  in  the  woods  alone." 

"  Never !  "  says  Mrs.  Arden,  promptly,  though  she 

shudders  a  little.     "  There  is  too  much  for  Colonel  Dun- 
10 


218  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

can  yet  to  do  in  the  world,  I  am  sure.     For  that  reason, 
I  have  felt  certain  that  he  will  recover." 

"  There  is  every  ground  now  to  hope  that  he  will," 
says  Roslyn.  "  But  the  doctors  are  still  very  careful,  and 
do  not  relax  the  vigilance  with  which  they  watch  him. 
They  seem  particularly  afraid  of  the  effects  of  excitement 
for  him." 

"  I  hope  your  father  is  not  staying  with  him  too  long," 
says  Mrs.  Arden.  "  I  think  I  had  better  go  and  end  the 
visit.     I  want  to  see  him  myself." 

But,  instead  of  ending  the  visit,  her  advent  rather 
prolongs  it — for  so  glad  is  Colonel  Duncan  to  see  these 
friends  that  he  is  loath  to  let  them  leave  him,  and,  when  re- 
minded of  the  doctor's  warnings,  he  laughs  them  to  scorn. 

"  All  that  is  nonsense ! '  he  says,  disrespectfully. 
"  Kirke  is  making  a  tremendous  fuss  over  a  very  small 
matter.  It  strikes  me  as  the  height  of  absurdity  for  an 
old  soldier — one  who  has  been  wounded  with  serious  mis- 
siles— to  be  lying  here  as  the  consequence  of  a  discharge 
of  bird-shot.  But  I  am  getting  well,  and  there  is  no  need 
whatever  of  all  this  parade  of  caution." 

Mrs.  Arden  shakes  her  head.  "With  all  her  cheerful 
optimism,  she  believes  in  being  on  the  safe  side.  "  It 
does  no  harm  to  be  careful,"  she  says,  "  and,  if  one  has  a 
physician,  I  think  it  is  only  just  to  him  to  follow  his  ad- 
vice. I  should  not  like  you  to  endanger  the  life,  that  you 
have  so  nearly  lost,  by  any  imprudence.  So  we  must 
leave  you. — Come,  George !  " 

Colonel  Duncan  looks  regretfully  at  Mr.  Vardray, 
who  rises  in  answer  to  this  appeal.  "At  least,  you  will 
let  me  see  you  again  before  you  go  away,"  he  says. 

"  Are  you  going  away  ?  "  asks  Mrs.  Arden,  turning  to 
her  brother  with  some  surprise. 


A    WILLFUL  MAN.  219 

"  Yes,"  lie  answers ;  "  I  find  Duncan  getting  on  so 
famously  that  I  think  I  had  better  return  to  Ellen.  I  am 
a  little  uneasy  about  Effie.  And  you  are  here  to  take 
charge  of  everything." 

"  Including  the  invalid,"  she  says,  with  a  smile.  "  Per- 
haps it  is  best  that  you  should  go.  I  don't  think  there 
is  much  the  matter  with  Effie,  but  one  can  never  tell — 
and  you  are  not  needed  here." 

"  There  I  beg  to  differ  with  you,"  says  Colonel  Dun- 
can. "  He  is  needed  to  aid  and  abet  me  in  the  rebellion 
I  clearly  foresee  that  I  shall  have  to  make." 

"  Don't  count  on  me  for  such  a  service  as  that,"  says 
Mr.  Yardray.  "  I  am  rather  inclined  to  beg  you  to  be 
patient  and  run  no  risks.  After  all,  the  doctors  may  be 
right,  you  know." 

This  candid  admission — which  might  amuse  one  doc- 
tor, but  would  certainly  not  amuse  the  other — is  soon 
verified.  Mr.  Yardray  takes  his  departure  early  the  next 
morning ;  and,  when  Mrs.  Arden  and  Roklyn  are  sitting 
at  the  breakfast-table,  an  hour  or  two  later,  Geoffrey 
enters,  looking  rather  grave. 

"  I  have  just  been  in  Colonel  Duncan's  room,"  he  says, 
"  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  is  not  so  well  this  morning. 
He  did  not  sleep  last  night,  and  he  seems  a  little  feverish." 

"  Oh,"  says  Koslyn,  "  that  is  what  the  doctors  have 
been  afraid  of !  " 

Mrs.  Arden  looks  startled.  "  How  unfortunate !  " 
she  says ;  "  I  fear  that  our  coming  has  had  something  to 
do  with  it." 

"  Something,  perhaps,"  says  Geoffrey.  "  But  he  has 
been  impatient  and  imprudent  all  along.  Dr.  Kirke  will 
be  here  presently,  and  then  we  shall  hear  if  it  is  anything 
serious." 


220  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  I  don't  think  it  can  be  anything  serious,"  says  Mrs. 
Arden,  with  her  happy  optimism. 

But  Dr.  Kirke,  when  he  comes,  is  inclined  to  be  of 
another  opinion,  and  he  reissues  stringent  orders  against 
excitement  of  any  kind,  though  admitting  that  at  present 
the  dangerous  symptoms  are  slight.  When  he  returns  in 
the  afternoon,  however,  he  finds  the  patient  in  a  condi- 
tion which  excites  his  serious  apprehensions,  and  he  de- 
cides to  spend  the  night  at  Yerdevale,  in  order  to  watch 
closely,  and  ward  off,  if  possible,  the  danger  which  he 
fears.  The  result  appears  when  Geoffrey  is  awakened  at 
daylight  by  a  knock  at  his  door,  and,  in  answer  to  his 
"  Come  in,"  Dr.  Kirke  appears,  with  a  note  in  his  hand, 
looking  both  serious  and  irate. 

"  I  shall  be  obliged  if  you  will  send  this  as  soon  as 
possible  to  Chelmson,"  he  says. 

"  I  hope  Colonel  Duncan  is  not  worse  !  "  Geoffrey  ex- 
claims, starting  up. 

"  He  has  done  just  what  I  have  been  warning  him 
against  from  the  first,"  answers  the  doctor,  dryly — 
"  brought  on  an  attack  of  fever,  which  as  likely  as  not 
will  finish  him." 


CHAPTEE  XXIY. 

"when  we  two  parted." 

The  next  few  days  are  days  of  gloom  and  anxiety  at 
Yerdevale.  The  grave  faces  of  the  physicians  tell  every 
one  of  Colonel  Duncan's  danger,  and  that  the  battle  be- 
tween life  and  death  is  likely  to  be  a  hard  and  close  one. 
Inch  by  inch  they  dispute  the  ground  ;  but  inch  by  inch 


"WHEN   WE  TWO  PARTED:'  221 

they  find  themselves  baffled  by  the  fever,  which  like  a 
flame  seems  suddenly  to  have  leaped  beyond  control,  un- 
til the  life  of  the  sick  man  may  be  said  to  hang  upon  a 
thread. 

While  matters  are  at  this  crisis,  Roslyn  leaves  the 
house  one  morning — the  morning  of  a  day  so  soft  and 
brilliant  that  the  glory  and  beauty  of  nature  seem  to 
mock  the  thought  of  death — and,  with  an  impulse  to  es- 
cape, if  possible,  from  the  sense  of  hopeless  sadness  that 
weighs  upon  her,  takes  her  way  down  the  lawn.  She  is 
not  thinking  at  all  of  where  she  is  going,  as  she  follows 
the  great  sweep  of  the  carriage-drive,  until  she  finds  her- 
self at  the  gate  which  opens  upon  the  high-road.  Here 
she  pauses,  and,  leaning  her  arms  upon  the  topmost  bar, 
looks  absently  and  wistfully  over  a  fair  prospect  of  slop- 
ing fields,  and  soft,  green  meadows,  belted  by  glowing 
woods.  She  is  thinking  of  the  wide  scene  which  Cliff- 
ton  overlooks,  all  steeped  in  beauty  by  this  autumnal 
sun  and  mist;  and  of  Cliffton's  master,  lying  in  his 
darkened  chamber,  between  life  and  death,  behind  her. 
Will  he  ever  look  on  the  kindly,  familiar  face  of  Nature 
— of  his  own  woods  and  fields,  which  he  loves  so  wTell — 
again  ?  She  knows  how  doubtful  —  how  more  than 
doubtful— it  is,  and,  as  she  puts  her  hand  to  her  eyes, 
blinded  both  by  sunlight  and  tears,  she  does  not  observe 
a  horseman  advancing  along  the  road  from  Kirton,  who 
at  sight  of  her  suddenly  halts.  It  is  only  as  he  springs 
to  the  ground  that  she  lets  her  hand  fall  and  looks  up — 
to  see  Laurent. 

Notwithstanding  all  predictions  of  his  coming,  his  ap- 
pearance at  this  moment  startles  her  greatly.  Her  face 
tells  him  so,  as  she  says,  involuntarily,  "  Mr.  Laurent !  is 
it  possible  this  is  you  ? " 


222  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,"  Laurent  answers,  advancing  toward 
her.     "  Surely  you  knew  that  I  would  come !  " 

"  I  ?  No.  Why  should  I  know  it  ? "  she  replies. 
Then  she  adds,  hastily :  "  But  you  have  come,  of  course, 
on  account  of  Colonel  Duncan.     He  is  very  ill." 

"  Is  he  ?     I  am  sorry,"  says  Laurent. 

And  then  he  stands  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  at 
her.  He  has  come  on  account  of  Colonel  Duncan,  and  to 
look  after  his  own  interest — yes.  And  the  necessity  has 
not  been  altogether  an  agreeable  one  to  him.  He  had 
hesitated  and  delayed  for  several  days  before  deciding  to 
come — fearing  his  own  weakness,  fearing  further  entangle- 
ment— thinking  (perhaps  it  would  be  too  much  to  say, 
hoping)  that  news  of  his  cousin's  death  might  arrive  and 
make  his  way  clearer.  But  now,  as  he  stands  looking  at 
Roslyn  in  the  morning  sunlight,  he  is  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand his  own  delay.  To  see  that  face  again — why  did 
he  not  fly  ?  And  if — and  if,  indeed,  good  fortune  is  to 
attend  him — if  Cliffton  is  to  be  his — 

"  Do  you  not  know,"  he  says,  in  a  low  tone,  "  that  if 
I  had  listened  to  my  heart,  I  should  have  been  here  long 
ago  ? " 

Eoslyn  lifts  her  head — a  little  proudly.  That  tender 
tone  stirs,  stings,  rouses  her  to  the  necessity  of  composure 
and  self-control. 

"  Why  should  I  have  known  it  ? "  she  repeats — this 
time  more  coldly.  "  But  it  is  natural  that  you  should 
have  been  anxious  about  Colonel  Duncan.  His  wound 
has  proved  very  serious." 

"  Is  there,  then,  no  hope — of  his  recovery  ?  "  Lau- 
rent asks. 

How  hard  it  is  to  control  the  voice  so  that  it  shall 
not  betray  anything  of   one's  inmost  feeling!     Despite 


"WHEN  WE  TWO  PARTED:'1  223 

his  efforts,  Laurent's  voice  betrays  something  of  his. 
There  is  a  shade  too  little  of  solicitude,  a  shade  too  much 
of  eagerness  in  his  question.  Iioslyn's  ear  feels,  rather 
than  hears,  both.  She  glances  at  him  quickly.  A  sud- 
den recollection  flashes  upon  her.  She  hears  Geoffrey's 
voice  saying,  "  It  is  the  way  of  the  world :  men  do  not 
usually  mourn  for  those  whom  they  succeed."  She  had 
indignantly  repudiated  such  a  thought  when  he  sug- 
gested it ;  but  now — why  does  she  recall  it  now  ?  Her 
clear  eyes,  with  the  moisture  of  unshed  tears  still  cling- 
ing to  their  lashes,  and  violet  shadows  beneath  them, 
look  keenly  at  Laurent  as  she  says  : 

"  "While  there  is  life  there  is  hope — is  not  that  what 
one  is  always  told  ? — but  Colonel  Duncan  is  in  great  dan- 
ger. For  a  time  he  was  much  better — almost  convales- 
cent ;  but  he  committed  some  imprudences,  and  fever 
came  on.  Then  there  is  trouble  about  an  aneurism  :  so 
that  his  situation  is  most  critical." 

"  I  am  very  sorry !  "  says  Laurent  again  ;  and  this 
time  his  voice  seems  to  express  only  deep  regret.  "  In 
that  case  I  had  better  go  on  to  Cliffton  at  once.  Of 
course,  I  shall  see  you  again — as  soon  as  possible." 

"  To  Cliffton !  "  she  repeats.  "  But  he  is  here  with 
us.     Are  you  not  aware  of  it  ?  " 

"  Here — yet  ?  "  says  Laurent,  with  surprise.  "  I  knew 
that  he  was  brought  here  at  first ;  but  I  supposed  that 
he  had  been  removed  to  Cliffton." 

"  He  has  never  been  well  enough  to  be  moved.  You 
will  come  in  ?  Though  I  warn  you  it  is  not  likely  that 
you  will  be  allowed  to  see  him." 

"  I  can  see  " — he  hesitates — "  the  doctors,  at  least. 
Thanks,  yes — I  will  certainly  go  in." 

He  lays  his  hand  on  the  gate  as  he  speaks — for,  up 


22±  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

to  this  point,  their  conversation  has  been  carried  on  across 
it,  and,  when  Roslyn  draws  back,  opens  it  and  leads  his 
horse  in.  Then,  as  they  walk  side  by  side  toward  the 
house,  it  is  a  minute  before  either  speaks.  The  thought 
of  their  parting  is  in  the  minds  of  both,  and  renders  ordi- 
nary conversation  difficult.  As  for  Laurent,  he  is  more 
deeply  stung  than  he  would  have  believed  possible  by 
the  apparent  indifference  with  which  he  has  been  met. 
There  have  been  no  blushes,  no  smiles,  no  drooping  eye- 
lids to  greet  him.  Roslyn  is  beautiful — more  beautiful 
than  he  remembered  her — but  a  change  has  come  over 
her  which  is  beyond  his  power  to  fathom.  The  gay 
coquettish  girl  he  left  is  transformed  into  a  fair,  stately 
woman  who  seems  as  unmoved  by  his  presence  as  if  she 
had  never  promised  to  listen — when  he  returned. 

Presently  he  glances  at  her  delicate,  spirited  profile 
as  she  walks  beside  him  and  sj>eaks  abruptly.  "  You  are 
changed,"  he  says,  "  greatly  changed,  since  I  saw  you 
last." 

"  Am  I  ? "  she  says,  with  a  slight  smile.  "  Well,  it  is 
natural.     One  does  not  stand  still,  you  know." 

"  But  in  so  short  a  time  one  does  not  usually  change 
so  much  as  you  are  changed,"  he  says. 

"  Does  one  not  ? '  she  answers,  carelessly.  "  But  a 
short  time  is  sufficient  for  a  good  many  different  experi- 
ences, and  that  produces  change — is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replies — wondering  what  these  experiences 
have  been,  but  not  daring  to  ask.  More  and  more  he 
realizes  that  his  position  is  even  more  difficult  than  he 
anticipated.  A  few  direct,  passionate  words  might — 
though  he  is  not  sure  of  it — put  matters  right  with  Ros- 
lyn. But  how  can  he  utter  these  words,  in  absolute 
uncertainty  of  what  his  future  prospects  may  be  1     If 


MRS.  ARDEX  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION.         225 

Colonel  Duncan  dies,  Cliffton  will  be  his ;  but  Cliffton 
alone  is  a  small  inheritance — and  to  whom  will  the  re- 
mainder of  the  estate  go  ?  Whereas,  if  Colonel  Duncan 
lives,  will  he  be  ready  to  carry  out  his  promises  of  the 
summer  ?  Who  can  tell  what  changes  these  past  months 
may  have  wrought  ?  The  great  change  in  Roslyn  pre- 
pares him  for  other  changes  as  great.  He  came  thinking 
the  ball  still  at  his  feet,  and  that  with  him  alone  decision 
was  to  he  ;  but  now  it  is  suddenly  borne  in  upon  him 
that  everything  is  doubtful,  and  that  the  situation  may 
find  him  unequal  to  its  demands. 

This  is  so  novel  an  idea  to  him — that  any  situation 
could  find  him  unequal  to  its  demands — that  unconscious- 
ly he  relapses  into  silence — silence  which,  on  her  part, 
Roslyn  makes  no  effort  to  break.  And  so  they,  who 
parted  as  lovers,  meet  again. 

Naturally,  however,  only  themselves  can  be  aware  of 
their  changed  relations.  As  Mrs.  Arden  and  Geoffrey 
stand,  gravely  talking  on  the  veranda,  the  unwelcome 
and  to  them  significant  sight  which  presents  itself  is 
Roslyn,  advancing  toward  them,  with  Laurent  walking 
by  her  side,  his  horse's  bridle  over  his  arm. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MRS.    ARDEN   MAKES    A    SUGGESTION. 

Mrs.  Arden  is  a  woman  of  fertile  resource  and  great 
decision  of  character.  "  Anything  that  one  desires  to  ac- 
complish, one  generally  can  accomplish  if  one  only  tries 
long  enough  and  hard  enough,"  she  has  often  said  ;  and 


226  EOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

having  resolved  to  prevent  Iloslyn  "  from  thowing  herself 
away  "  on  Laurent,  she  is  quickened  to  energy  and  perse- 
verance in  her  resolve  by  the  appearance  of  that  gentle- 
man. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  hope,"  Geoffrey  says,  when 
they  are  discussing  the  matter,  soon  after  the  inopportune 
arrival.  "  If  poor  Duncan  dies,  as  I  suppose  he  will,  and 
this  fellow  inherits  Cliffton,  Iloslyn  will  marry  him.  We 
can  not  prevent  it." 

"  But  what  has  his  inheriting  Cliffton  to  do  with  the 
matter?"  demands  Mrs.  Arden.  "You  do  not  think 
that  would  influence  Iloslyn  ?  " 

"  Eoslyn — no.  But  it  will  influence  him.  It  will 
make  it  possible  for  him  to  marry.  I  doubt  if  it  is  possi- 
ble now.  And  then  " — Geoffrey  hesitates — "  I  have  rea- 
son to  believe  that  Colonel  Duncan  has  left  all  of  his  for- 
tune that  he  could  leave  to  Iloslyn.  I  know  he  made  his 
will  the  other  day — I  was  called  to  witness  it — and,  from 
something  Mr.  Shelboume  let  drop,  I  inferred  as  much." 

"  It  would  be  like  him  !  "  says  Mrs.  Arden,  startled 
but  not  surprised,  for  she  remembers  the  day  when 
Duncan  came  to  her  house,  eager  to  secure  Roslyn's  hap- 
piness at  any  cost,  and  what  had  then  been  his  inten- 
tions with  regard  to  her.  Is  he  likely  to  have  less  gener- 
ous intentions  in  the  face  of  death  l  "  It  would  be  like 
him !  "  she  repeats,  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 
"  And  oh,  what  fools,  what  fools,  women  are  !  To  think 
of  Iloslyn  turning  away  from  such  a  man,  for  a  nobody 
like  this  Laurent !  " 

"  He  is  worse  than  a  nobody,"  says  Geoffrey — "  a  man 
without  character,  and  I  suspect  without  principle,  who 
I  am  sure  is  altogether  mercenary  in  his  intentions — " 

"  Well,  I  know  Iloslyn,"  says  Mrs.  Arden,  with  en- 


MBS.  ARDEN  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION.         227 

ergy,  "  and  /  am  sure  of  one  thing — that  she  would  not 
marry  Mr.  Laurent  if  she  could  once  be  fully  convinced 
of  his  mercenary  intentions." 

"  But  how  is  it  possible  to  convince  her  ? '  says  Geof- 
frey. "  It  does  not  seem  to  me  that  she  ought  to  need 
any  further  conviction  than  his  conduct  has  already  af- 
forded." 

"  Women  are  very  foolish  sometimes,"  says  Mrs.  Ar- 
den,  shaking  her  head.  "  It  requires  a  great  deal  to  con- 
vince them  that  a  man  who  talks  love  means  money.  I 
wonder  has  this  man  any  idea  that  Colonel  Duncan  may 
leave  his  fortune  to  Roslyn  1 " 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  Who  would  tell  him  ?  Only 
Mr.  Shelbourne  positively  knows." 

"  Then  I  think  we  may  test  him,"  sa);s  the  lady,  with 
an  air  of  reflection.  "A  thought  has  occurred  to  me, 
though  I  won't  tell  you  what  it  is  until  I  see  whether  it 
can  be  executed.  It  depends,  in  the  first  place,  upon 
Colonel  Duncan.  I  know  the  doctors  would  forbid  my 
talking  to  him  on  such  a  subject ;  but  I  don't  mind  them — 
only  I  must  choose  my  opportunity  when  they  are  away." 

"  It  will  be  a  risk,"  says  Geoffrey,  rather  startled  by 
such  an  announcement.  "I  don't  think  I  would  trouble 
him  about  the  matter,  if  I  were  you,  Aunt  Lavinia. 
What  can  he  do,  except,  perhaps,  put  a  condition  in  his 
will  that  Roslyn  shall  not  inherit  the  fortune  if  she  mar- 
ries Laurent  ?  That  would  outrage  her,  and  make  people 
talk  tremendously." 

"  I  have  no  idea  of  that  kind,"  says  Mrs.  Arden. 
"  Don't  be  afraid,  Geoffrey  !  I  have  always  fancied  that 
I  possess  an  undeveloped  talent  for  intrigue,  and  now  we 
shall  see  if  I  do." 

She  goes  away  smiling;  but  Geoffrey  is  not  at  all 


228  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

easy  in  his  mind.  He  does  not  fear  her  "intrigue,"  ex- 
cej)t  in  its  result  on  Colonel  Duncan  ;  but  that,  he  thinks, 
may  be  seriously  hurtful.  To  talk  to  a  man  in  a  desper- 
ate fever  on  the  most  exciting  topic  that  could  be  sug- 
gested, does  not  commend  itself  to  him,  any  more  than  it 
would  to  the  doctors,  as  an  advisable  thing  to  do ;  and  he 
determines  to  frustrate  Mrs.  Arden's  purpose  if  possible. 
So  far,  the  knowledge  of  Laurent's  arrival  has  been  kept 
from  the  sick  man ;  and  Geoffrey  is  unable  to  perceive 
any  good  end  to  be  gained  by  informing  him  of  the  fact. 
"  I  would  have  given  Aunt  Lavinia  credit  for  more 
sense,"  he  thinks.  "  If  Roslyn  will  throw  away  her  life, 
in  the  face  of  all  warnings  and  expostulations,  that  is  no 
reason  for  killing  poor  Duncan,  who  is  fool  enough  to 
care  for  her,  even  more  than  I  do." 

Full  of  an  irritation  which  is  comprehensively  directed 
against  Mrs.  Arden,  Laurent,  and  Roslyn,  he  walks  into 
the  hall,  and  there  comes  face  to  face  with  the  latter, 
who  is  entering  from  the  veranda. 

"  Geoffrey,"  she  says,  somewhat  hesitatingly,  "  Mr. 
Laurent  has  returned  "  (it  is  now  afternoon),  "  and  desires 
to  know  if  he  can  not  see  Colonel  Duncan." 

"  Mr.  Laurent  knows  what  Dr.  Kirke  told  him  this 
morning ;  and  of  course  we  are  bound  to  observe  the 
doctor's  orders  until  he  changes  them.  He  said  that 
Colonel  Duncan  must  on  no  account  be  excited  or  dis- 
turbed ;  and  a  visit  from  Mr.  Laurent  would  both  excite 
and  disturb  him." 

"  Will  you  tell  Mr.  Laurent  so  ? "  she  asks.  "  He  is 
on  the  veranda." 

Geoffrey  looks  at  her  doubtfully.  Why  does  she  want 
him  to  go  to  Laurent  ?  "  Can  you  not  tell  him  ? "  he  asks, 
a  little  brusquely. 


MRS.  AEDEN  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION.         229 

"It  will  be  better  for  you  to  speak  to  him,"  she 
answers.     ''I  am  going  up-stairs." 

"Without  giving  him  time  to  reply,  she  turns  and  passes 
the  staircase,  so  that  he  has  no  alternative  but  to  walk  out 
on  the  veranda  where  Laurent  is  sitting. 

Their  meeting,  like  all  their  intercourse,  is  courteous 
without  cordiality.  Geoffrey,  with  the  intolerance  of 
youthful  feeling,  is  unable  to  constrain  himself  to  more 
than  mere  civility  to  a  man  whom  he  both  dislikes  and 
distrusts ;  while  Laurent,  amused  by  a  reserve  which  he 
ascribes  entirely  to  jealousy,  treats  him  with  an  off-hand 
carelessness  that  has  sometimes  a  dash  of  patronage  in  it. 
At  the  present  time,  however,  the  latter  is  not  evident, 
as  he  receives  with  considerable  hauteur  the  decision  with 
regard  to  Colonel  Duncan. 

"  I  do  not  feel  at  all  bound  to  observe  Dr.  Kirke's 
orders,"  he  says,  "and  I  must  beg  that  Colonel  Duncan 
shall  be  informed  that  I  am  here.  If  he  declines  to  see 
me,  that  is  another  matter." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  even  to  do 
that  without  the  doctor's  sanction,"  replies  Geoffrey. 

An  angry  flush  comes  to  Laurent's  face.  "  Is  the 
doctor  not  here  ? "  he  asks.     "  Can  I  not  see  him  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  here  just  now,"  answers  Geoffrey,  "  but  he 
will  be  here  before  long,  and  then  you  can  appeal  to  him. 
Pray  understand  that  I  have  no  desire  to  assume  any  re- 
sponsibility in  the  matter  ;  I  simply  feel  bound  to  observe 
his  directions." 

"  A  very  good  rule  in  general  cases,"  says  Laurent, 
still  haughtily,  "  but  in  this  particular  instance  you  forget 
that,  as  Colonel  Duncan's  nearest  relative,  I  have  a  right 
of  admittance  to  his  chamber." 

"  That,"  Geoffrey  repeats,  "  I  regret  to  say,  you  must 


230  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE.  ' 

settle  with  the  doctors.  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  observe 
their  orders.  I  hope,  however,  that  you  may  not  find  it 
necessary  to  wait  very  long  to  see  them.  Either  Dr.  Kirke 
or  Dr.  Chelmson  will  be  here  in  the  course  of  an  hour." 

"  I  shall  wait,  then,"  says  Laurent,  resuming  his  seat 
with  a  quick,  impatient  movement. 

Geoffrey  hesitates  for  a  moment,  then  sits  down  also, 
thinking  that  Koslyn  will  return  in  a  few  minutes  and 
relieve  him ;  but  minutes  pass,  and  Koslyn  does  not  re- 
turn— somewhat  to  his  surprise,  and  more  to  that  of  Lau- 
rent. To  the  latter,  this  is  a  fresh  grievance  and  source 
of  exasperation,  which  he  is  not  slow  to  ascribe  to  Geof- 
frey also.  He  feels  certain  that  the  latter  has  said  or 
done  something  to  keep  Koslyn  away,  and  his  easy  indif- 
ference of  feeling  begins  to  be  replaced  by  a  quite  active 
sense  of  resentment  and  dislike. 

Meanwhile,  the  stars  in  their  courses  appear  to  fight 
for  the  execution  of  Mrs.  Arden's  resolution.  The  ab- 
sence of  the  doctors  and  the  detention  of  Geoffrey  afford 
her  just  the  opportunity  she  desires.  Of  the  latter  fact 
she  is  informed  by  Koslyn,  who  meets  her  in  the  upper 
hall  on  her  way  to  Colonel  Duncan's  room. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  down-stairs  and  take  Geoffrey 
to  walk,  my  dear,"  she  says,  with  fine  disinterestedness. 
"  The  poor  fellow  needs  a  little  exercise  and  diversion." 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  do  so.  Aunt  Lavinia,"  Kos- 
lyn answers,  "  but  unfortunately  I  can  not — Geoffrey  is 
with  Mr.  Laurent." 

"  Indeed  !  I  did  not  know  that  Mr.  Laurent  is  here." 

"  He  only  came  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  wanted  to  see 
Colonel  Duncan  ;  so  I  sent  Geoffrey  to  tell  him  what  the 
doctors  said." 

"  He  is  very  persevering — in  his  desire  to  see  Colonel 


MRS.   ARDEX  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION.         231 

Duncan,"  says  Mrs.  Arden.    "  I  suppose  you  will  go  back 
to  entertain  and  console  him  %  " 

"  TsTo,"  answers  Koslyn,  quietly.  "  I  sent  Geoffrey,  be- 
cause I  did  not  wish  to  stay." 

The  elder  lady  smiles — a  very  well-pleased  smile. 
"Two  such  congenial  spirits  will  entertain  each  other 
delightfully.  I  am  very  glad  that  you  sent  Geoffrey.  I 
am  going  to  see  Colonel  Duncan,  and  I  will  send  Mrs. 
Knight  out  for  a  little  relief.  Suppose  you  take  her  to 
walk « " 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do  so,"  Eoslyn  answers,  hon- 
estly. "  We  can  go  out  the  back  way,  so  as  not  to  be  seen 
— or  waylaid." 

Having  thus  arranged  matters  to  her  satisfaction,  Mrs. 
Arden  enters  the  sick-chamber  and  whispers  to  Mrs. 
Knight,  who  is  placidly  knitting  by  the  window,  that  she 
will  relieve  her  for  a  while.  "  Go  out,"  she  says.  u  You 
need  fresh  air,  and  Koslyn  means  to  take  you  to  walk." 

Mrs.  Knight  smiles.  "Miss  Eoslyn's  kind  as  she 
can  be,"  she  says,  "  and  I  think  it  will  do  me  good  to 
take  the  air  a  bit.  The  coloners  quiet  now " — nod- 
ding her  head  toward  the  bed  where  the  recumbent  fig- 
ure lay  motionless — a  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he 
dozed  off  a  little  after  that  last  dose  of  medicine." 

She  rises  as  she  speaks,  and  goes  away  very  quietly ; 
while  Mrs.  Arden,  hearing  a  slight  movement  of  the 
sick  man  as  the  door  closes,  advances  to  the  side  of  the 
bed  and  bends  over  him. 

He  opens  his  eyes,  that  shine  large  and  hollow,  out 
of  the  pallid,  wasted  face,  and  looks  at  her  with  a  faint 
smile,  as  she  puts  her  cool  fingers  on  his  pulse. 

"  I  do  not  think  your  fever  is  quite  as  high  as  it  has 
been,"  she  says,  almost  more  to  herself  than  to  him. 


232  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  I  have  been  asleep  for  a  few  minutes,"  he  says ; 
"  and  I  think  I  must  have  dreamed  a  little,  for  I  awoke 
with  the  sound  of  Laurent's  voice  in  my  ears." 

"  Indeed  !  "  says  Mrs.  Arden.  For  a  minute  she 
can  say  no  more,  so  much  is  she  surprised  by  the  opening 
thus  afforded  for  what  she  wishes  to  say ;  and  so  wholly 
is  she  at  a  loss  how  to  take  advantage  of  this  opening. 
But  her  irresolution  is  short.  She  quickly  decides  that 
the  opportunity  shall  not  find  her  unequal  to  it ;  and  that 
the  risk  (if  risk  there  be)  must  be  run.  She  therefore 
goes  on : 

"  You  were  not  dreaming,  or  else  you  slept  so  lightly 
that  real  sounds  mingled  with  your  dream,  for  Mr.  Lau- 
rent is  here,  and  you  probably  heard  his  voice  through 
the  open  window." 

She  speaks  very  quietly  ;  and  is  glad  to  see  that, 
though  Colonel  Duncan  looks  surprised,  he  is  neither 
disturbed  nor  excited.  He  is  silent  for  a  moment  before 
saying : 

"  When  did  he  come  ?  " 

"  This  morning.  He  is  very  anxious  to  see  you  ;  but 
Dr.  Kirke  did  not  think  it  well  that  he  should  do  so." 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  he  should."  He  says  this 
indifferently,  and  is  silent  again  for  a  minute.  Then 
there  comes  a  wistful  expression  into  the  eyes  that,  even 
before  his  lips  unclose,  tell  her  what  is  in  his  mind. 

"  Has  he  " — he  hesitates  for  an  instant — "  do  you 
know  why  he  has  come  ? " 

"  To  see  you,"  she  answers,  promptly.  "  At  least  he 
says  that  it  was  hearing  of  your  accident  and  illness  that 
brought  him." 

Duncan's  lip  curls  into  a  slight,  scornful  smile. 

"  That  is  likely,"  he  says.     "  There  is  much  involved 


MRS.  ARDEN  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION.        233 

— for  him.     But  he  will  inherit  no  more  than  my  uncle's 
will  gives  him.     I  have  taken  care  of  that." 

Then  the  fear  of  consequences  vanishes  from  the 
mind  of  Mrs.  Arden,  as  she  sees  this  opening  given  her 
— a  far  better  opening  than  she  could  possibly  have  hoped 

for. 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  says,  quickly ;  "  but  since  you 
have  spoken  of  the  matter  yourself,  I  must  ask  this  :  in 
providing  against  that  danger,  have  you  not  opened  the 
way  to  a  greater  one  1  I  mean  " — for  he  looks  at  her  in 
surprise — "  have  you  not  left  your  fortune  to  Roslyn  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answers  ;  "  I  have  done  so.  AVhy  do  you 
speak  of  it  as  a  danger  ?  " 

"  Because  I  perceive  what  you  have  overlooked — the 
probable  result,"  she  says.  "  God  grant,  for  every  rea- 
son, that  yon  may  live  to  enjoy  your  fortune  yourself ; 
for  so  surely  as  it  passes  to  Roslyn,  so  surely  will  she 
marry  Laurent !  " 

A  brief  silence  follows.  The  sick  man  lies  and  gazes 
with  his  hollow  eyes  at  the  stream  of  golden  sunshine 
pouring  in  long  rays  across  the  room  ;  and  Mrs.  Arden 
watches  him  and  wonders  if  she  has  done  any  mischief, 
or  if  she  can  venture  to  proceed. 

" I  must"  she  says  to  herself.  "  This  is  my  only 
chance." 

But,  just  as  she  is  opening  her  lips,  he  speaks — slowly, 
as  one  who  is  pondering  a  new  thought. 

"  I  did  not  consider  that,"  he  says.  "  I  thought,  I 
hoped,  that  he  had  gone  out  of  her  life.  Surely  she  is 
not  the  woman  we  believe  her  to  be,  if  she  would  accept 
a  man  who  waited  until  she  inherited  a  fortune  to  ask 
her  to  marry  him." 

"  I  do  not  know — the  position  in  which  she  stands  to 


23±  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

him  is  not  quite  clear  to  me,"  says  Mrs.  Arden ;  "  but  I 
do  not  think  that  matters  are  at  an  end  between  them, 
by  any  means.  This,"  she  adds,  quickly,  "  is  only  my 
impression,  however.     Roslyn  has  said  nothing  to  me." 

"  It  may  be  a  right  impression,"  says  Duncan  ;  "  but 
what  can  we  do  ?  Last  summer,  as  you  know,  I  was 
willing  to  smooth  away  the  obstacles  between  them ;  but 
now — having  learned,  in  the  interval,  a  great  deal  about 
Laurent's  character — I  would  place  any  obstacle  that  I 
could  in  the  way  of  her  marrying  him." 

"  There  is  one  obstacle  which  you  might  place,"  says 
Mrs.  Arden,  eagerly.     "  Shall  I  tell  you  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answers,  his  eyes  growing  bright  with  ex- 
cited interest,  and  the  fever-flush,  which  she  is  too  ab- 
sorbed to  notice,  deepening  on  his  wasted  cheeks. 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  she  says,  "  if  I  speak  very 
plainly  ;  but  I  know  what  is  best  for  her  happiness  and 
yours — ask  her  to  marry  you  !  " 

He  looks  at  her  in  amazement — as  if  he  doubted 
either  her  sanity  or  the  evidence  of  his  own  senses. 

"  Ask  her  to  marry  me  !  "  he  repeats.  "  In  the  first 
place,  I  have  done  so,  and  she  said  that  she  could  not 
think  of  it.  In  the  second  place,  do  you  know  that  the 
doctors  think  me  a  dying  man  % " 

"  Not  a  dying  man — only  a  man  in  danger  of  death," 
says  Mrs.  Arden.  "I  do  not  pretend  to  disguise  the 
fact  of  your  danger  from  you  ;  and  I  know  that  you  have 
faced  it  in  your  own  flioughts,  else  I  should  not  venture 
to  speak  of  it.  But  I  believe  that,  whether  it  be  for  life 
or  for  death,  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  Roslyn 
would  be  to  become  your  wife." 

"  You  have  not  thought  of  what  you  are  suggesting," 
he  says,  with   an   agitation  which  begins  to  alarm  her. 


MRS.   ABDEX  MAKES  A  SUGGESTION.         235 

"  Through  her  sympathy  she  might  be  induced  to  think 
of  such  a  thing — but  if  I  lived,  she  would  be  bound  to  a 
man  she  did  not  love ;  and  if  I  died,  she  would  be  as  free 
to  do  what  you  wish  to  prevent,  as  if  such  an  empty 
ceremony  had  never  taken  place." 

"I  look  at  the  matter  very  differently,"  she  says, 
eagerly.  "If  you  lived,  Hoslyn  would,  I  am  sure,  make 
as  happy  and  as  attached  a  wife  as  you  could  desire ; 
while,  if  you  died,  she  would  be  compelled  to  wait  for 
some  time  at  least,  before  marrying  Laurent — and,  with 
that  time  secured,  I  do  not  believe  she  would  marry  him 
at  all." 

"  But  the  apparent  selfishness  of  such  a  request !  " 

"  There  would  be  no  selfishness  if  you  left  the  decis- 
ion to  her,  and  put  your  request  on  the  ground  that  you 
wish  to  secure  your  fortune  to  her  beyond  the  danger  of 
any  contest.  Think  of  this — pray  think  of  it ! '  she  says, 
hurriedly,  "  for  I  hear  the  doctors'  voices,  and  I  can  say 
no  more.  Heavens !  what  would  they  do  to  me  if  they 
knew  what  I  have  said  already  ?  " 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  he  exclaims,  as  she  rises — and  his 
hand  clutches  her  dress.  "  I  can  not  deny  that  what  you 
propose  would  be  to  me  a  great  happiness ;  but  I  have 
never  for  an  instant  thought  of  asking — I  could  not  for 
an  instant  think  of  asking  it  on  that  ground.  But  when 
you  speak  of  Roslyn,  and  of  the  danger  to  which  she  is 
exposed,  I  can  only  say :  I  put  myself  in  your  hands. 
Do  what  you  will,  so  that  you  make  clear  to  her  that 
I  do  not  ask  this  on  my  own  account ;  and  that  I  will 
not  ask  it  on  any  account,  unless  the  doctors  distinctly 
declare  that  there  is  no  hope  for  my  life.  I  will  not 
consent  to  run  any  risk  of  her  being  tied  to  a  man  who 
may  live  instead  of  die.     But  if  she  will  take  my  name 


236  EOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

and  my  fortune  from  me  on  my  death-bed,  I  shall  be 
grateful." 

"  I  will  tell  her.  Trust  me,  and  do  not  think  of  it 
again  ! "  cries  Mrs.  Arden,  really  frightened  now,  to 
consider  what  may  be  the  probable  result  of  this  agita- 
tion. "  Leave  the  matter  in  my  hands  ;  I  promise  you  I 
will  do  what  you  wish,  and  as  you  wish.  Don't  excite 
yourself ! — don't  let  your  fever  grow  worse  !  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself  if  this  harms  you." 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  any  danger  that  it  will,"  he 
says,  with  another  faint  smile  ;  "  but  if  it  does,  it  is  no 
matter.  I  have  done  my  work  in  the  world  as  well  as  I 
could,  and  I  leave  no  one  whose  g^ief  for  me  will  darken 
an  hour  of  life  :  so  why  should  I  fear  the  coming  of 
death  ? " 

"  You  do  not  know  how  many  there  are  who  would 
feel  that  your  going  darkened  life  for  them,"  says  Mrs. 
Arden,  hurriedly  ;  "  else  you  would  not  think  this." 

But,  as  she  speaks,  tears  gather  thickly  in  her  eyes  at 
the  realization  of  the  truth  of  his  words.  Gallant  and 
noble  and  true  though  his  life  has  been,  many  a  worth- 
less existence  would,  in  going  out,  leave  a  greater  blank 
behind  it ;  for  the  place  which  we  hold  in  the  world  is 
measured  exactly  by  the  hearts  that  love  us — not  in  the 
general  sense  of  friendship,  but  in  the  particular  sense  of 
that  close  affection  which  death  has  no  power  to  sever — 
in  which  Fate  had  made  Hugo  Duncan  poor  indeed. 


EOSLYN  CONSENTS.  237 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

ROSLYN   CONSENTS. 

It  is  certainly  in  Geoffrey's  mind  to  wonder  what 
spirit,  intriguing  or  otherwise,  has  taken  possession  of 
Mrs.  Arden,  when,  after  the  doctors  have  gone  up-stairs, 
she  appears  on  the  veranda,  and  greets  Laurent  with  a 
graciousness  which  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired. 

"Dr.  Kirke  is  still  obdurate,  I  perceive,  about  per- 
mitting you  to  see  Colonel  Duncan,"  she  says,  as  she 
gives  the  young  man  her  hand.  "  You  must  pardon 
him.  He  is  always  a  tyrant  in  a  sick-room  ;  and  this  case 
is  one  in  which  he  is  particularly  interested." 

"  That  is  natural,"  replies  Laurent ;  "  but  what  I  feel 
is,  that  Dr.  Kirke  should  realize  that  /am  particularly 
interested,  also — and  probably  more  deeply  interested 
than  he  is." 

"But  if  you  are  so  deeply  interested,  you  certainly 
would  not  wish  to  run  even  the  least  risk  that  might  be 
hurtful  to  Colonel  Duncan  ?  "  says  Mrs.  Arden,  looking  at 
him  with  keenly  observant  eyes. 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  answers,  promptly  ;  "  but  I  do 
not  believe  that  my  presence  could  have  any  hurtful 
effect  upon  him.     Why  should  it  %  " 

Xo  one  attempts  to  answer  this  question.  Mrs.  Ar- 
den only  says : 

"  The  doctor  has  the  responsibility  of  the  case,  you 
know,  and  must  guard  against  any  danger." 

"  I  should  not  like  to  characterize  the  doctor  exactly," 


233  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

says  Laurent,  "  but  he  has  agreed  to  mention  to  Colonel 
Duncan  that  I  am  here,  if  he  finds  him  no  worse  than  he 
left  him  this  morning." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  concession  with  which  I  think  you 
ought  to  be  satisfied,"  says  Mrs.  Arden.  "  Meanwhile, 
you  will  take  tea  with  ns  ?  " 

The  invitation  is,  within  the  bounds  of  civility,  un- 
avoidable, but  to  Geoffrey  it  seems  altogether  superfluous  ; 
and  turning  quickly  as  Laurent  answers,  "  I  shall  be  very 
happy,"  he  walks  around  the  veranda,  which  nearly  sur- 
rounds the  building,  and  is  rewarded  by  meeting  Roslyn 
and  Mrs.  Knight  at  a  side  entrance. 

"  Why,  where  have  you  been  ? "  he  asks,  in  much 
surprise,  as  the  girl  comes  up  to  the  steps,  and  pauses 
beside  him. 

"  I  have  been  taking  a  walk  with  Mrs.  Knight,"  she 
says  ;  "  and  I  should  have  asked  you  to  go  with  us,  only 
you  were  engaged,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  replies,  with  a  vain  attempt  at 
reproof  of  look  and  tone.  "Pray,  whose  fault  was  it 
that  I  was  engaged  ?  " 

"  Mine,  if  you  like,"  she  answers,  carelessly.  "  I 
thought  it  was  more  your  place  than  mine  to  entertain 
Mr.  Laurent." 

"  I  assure  you  that  Mr.  Laurent  did  not  think  so.  I 
never  saw  a  man  more  disgusted  than  he  looked  when 
you  did  not  return.  I  was  surprised  myself.  I  thought 
you  certainly  meant  to  come  back." 

"  No  " — she  shakes  her  head — "  I  had  no  such  inten- 
tion. Mr.  Laurent  came  to  see  Colonel  Duncan,  not  to 
see  me." 

"  Roslyn  " — a  new  fear  strikes  Geoffrey — "  you  are  not 
vexed  about  that  \  " 


ROSLYN  CONSENTS.  239 

"  Vexed  ! "  She  lifts  her  eyes  a  little  indignantly. 
"  Do  you  think  I  could  be  so  petty — even  if  I  cared  ? 
No ;  what  I  felt  was,  that  I  would  not  let  him  do  one 
thing  under  cover  of  doing  another :  and  I  did  not  act 
without  good  reason,  Geoffrey." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  says  Geoffrey,  warmly.  "  You 
were  perfectly  right,  and  I  enjoyed  amazingly  seeing  the 
disappointment  and  disgust  grow  more  and  more  evident 
on  his  face ;  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Aunt  Lavinia 
has  asked  him  to  stay  to  tea." 

"  How  could  she  avoid  doing  so  ?  You  see  it  is  sun- 
set now.  I  do  not  mind  that — I  feel  quite  equal  to  the 
occasion." 

"  I  think  you  are  quite  equal  to  it,"  says  Geoffrey, 
smiling  at  her.  "  But  where  are  you  going  ? — just  when 
I  have  a  little  opportunity  to  talk  to  you  !  " 

"  I  am  going  to  make  a  slight  improvement  in  my 
toilet.  See  how  my  hair  is  falling  down  ! — and  my  dress 
is  soiled  from  the  walk." 

She  nods,  smiles,  and,  walking  across  the  veranda,  is 
about  to  enter  a  glass  door  which  stands  open,  when 
a  sudden  thought  seems  to  strike  her,  and  she  turns 
back. 

"  Geoff,"  she  says,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  you  don't 
know  how  frivolous  I  feel  when  I  talk  of  such  trifling 
things  in  the  face  of  anything  so  grave  and  serious  as 
Colonel  Duncan's  illness.  I  suppose  the  coming  of — of 
Mr.  Laurent  has  made  me  think,  even  more  than  I  have 
before,  of  all  his  goodness  and  generosity  and  unselfish- 
ness. No  one  is  like  him  !  "  says  the  girl,  with  a  rush  of 
tears  in  her  voice  ;  "  and  he  is  dying,  perhaps,  and  I — I  to 
whom  he  has  been  so  more  than  kind — I  can  care  whether 
my  hair  is  smooth,   or  whether  Mr.  Laurent  comes  or 


240  "  BOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

goes !  Geoff,  you  ought  to  despise  me,  for  I  despise  my- 
self." 

"  I  see  no  reason  to  despise  you,"  says  Geoffrey.  "  Of 
course,  it  is  sad  to  think  of  Duncan  ;  but  you  can  not  be 
overshadowed  by  the  sadness  all  the  time." 

"  But  I  ought  to  be  ! — who  in  the  world  ought  to  be, 
if  not  I  ?  "  she  says.  "  It  is  strange  that  he  should  care 
for  any  one  so  like  a  doll  or  a  child  ;  but  he  does — you 
know  that  he  does.     And  I — " 

She  turns  quickly  and  goes  away  without  pausing 
again,  leaving  Geoffrey  in  his  inexperience  to  marvel 
over  the  incomprehensible  moods  and  variations  of  the 
feminine  nature. 

He  has  reason  to  marvel  over  them  still  more  before 
the  evening  ends.  Koslyn  makes  her  appearance  at  tea 
dressed  simply,  but  with  a  simplicity  that  greatly  en- 
hances her  beauty ;  and  her  manner  to  Laurent  is 
worthy  of  the  approval  and  admiration  with  which  Mrs. 
Arden  regards  it.  It  is  easy,  natural,  sufficiently  cordial, 
yet  indifferent.  Eeserve  may  mean  constraint,  injured 
feeling,  suppressed  passion — anything ;  but  in  Roslyn's 
manner  there  is  no  shade  of  effort.  If  Laurent's  pres- 
ence has  power  to  move  her  in  any  way,  Laurent  owns  to 
himself  that  he  can  read  no  sign  of  it.  She  looks  at  him 
with  unshadowed  eyes  ;  and  her  voice  takes  no  different 
tone  in  addressing  him  from  that  which  it  takes  in  ad- 
dressing any  one  else. 

In  truth,  the  chief  secret  of  her  unconcern  is  preoccu- 
pation of  thought  ;  for  she,  like  every  one  else,  reads  on 
Dr.  Kirke's  face  the  evidence  of  anxiety. 

"  I  found  Colonel  Duncan's  pulse  much  higher  than 
it  should  have  been,"  he  has  said  to  Mrs.  Arden — whose 
guilty  conscience  accuses  her  most  clamorously — "  and  it 


ROSLYN  CONSENTS.  241 

is  a  sign  that  alarms  me  very  much.  I  shall  stay  until 
midnight  to  watch  the  effect  of  the  medicine  I  am  giv- 
ing— and,  after  that,  Chelmson  will  take  my  place.  The 
patient  can  not  be  too  closely  attended  now,  nor  all  causes 
of  excitement  too  carefully  kept  from  him." 

Mrs.  Arden  silences  her  guilty  conscience  sufficiently 
to  say : 

"  You  do  not  intend  to  let  Mr.  Laurent  see  him, 
then  ? " 

The  old  physician  makes  a  gesture  of  contemptuous 
dissent.  "  I  never  entertained  such  an  idea  ! '  he  says. 
"  Mr.  Laurent  would  probably  have  very  little  power  to 
excite  him ;  but,  except  for  some  good  reason,  I  am  not 
going  to  run  any  risk — not  the  least." 

"  TThat  would  he  say  if  he  knew  what  1  have  done  ?  " 
thinks  Mrs.  Arden,  though  she  can  not  bring  herself  to 
regret  it. 

Laurent,  on  his  part,  has  received  the  decision  of  the 
doctor  without  further  remonstrance,  appreciating  fully 
how  useless  such  remonstrance  would  prove  in  the  face 
of  Dr.  Kirke's  resolution  and  increased  anxiety.  He 
only  expresses  his  intention  of  remaining  during  part,  at 
least,  of  the  night,  and  hopes  that  he  may  be  of  service  in 
some  way. 

It  has  been  already  said  that  Roslyn  reads  the  mean- 
ing of  the  shadow  on  the  doctor's  face,  and  after  tea  she 
waylays  him  in  the  hall.  He  had  paused  a  minute  in  the 
sitting-room,  to  give  Geoffrey  a  prescription  which  he 
wishes  sent  at  once  into  Kirton — and,  when  he  comes 
out,  a  figure  in  white  is  standing  by  the  staircase. 

"  Please   excuse   me,  doctor " — it   is   Roslyn's  voice 
that  speaks — "  I  know  you  don't  like  troublesome  ques- 
tions ;  but  is  Colonel  Duncan  worse  f  " 
11 


242  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

The  tremulous  anxiety  of  her  tone  is  not  lost  on  the 
doctor's  ear,  and,  looking  into  the  upturned  face,  he  sees 
that  this  anxiety  is  very  genuine. 

"  I  don't  so  much  object  to  troublesome  questions," 
he  says,  "  as  I  object  to  questions  which  I  can  not  an- 
swer. Colonel  Duncan  is  not  very  much  worse  just  now, 
but  there  are  indications  that  he  may  be  seriously  worse 
before  long.     That  is  exactly  the  truth." 

Exactly  the  truth,  because  spoken,  as  he  thinks,  to 
ears  indifferent,  save  from  the  interest  of  friendship; 
but,  as  he  passes  on,  a  sob  rises  in  the  throat  of  the  girl 
whom  he  leaves. 

"  I  know  he  will  die  !  1  am  sure  he  will  die !  "  she 
thinks.  "  People  who  are  useful  and  would  be  missed, 
always  die — and  worthless,  ungrateful  people  live." 

"Whether  or  not  she  stands  in  her  own  mind  for  the 
type  of  worthless  ingratitude,  it  is  a  very  subdued  Hos- 
]yn  who  presently  joins  the  group  now  returned  to  the 
veranda,  where  the  soft  moonlit  night  is  as  bright  as 
day. 

"I  was  just  wondering  what  had  become  of  you," 
says  Geoffrey,  as  she  appears. 

"  And  I  was  just  fearing  that  you  had  deserted  us 
again,"  says  Laurent,  speaking  in  a  tone  of  reproach. 
During  the  afternoon  he  had  determined  to  play  the  role 
of  injured  indignation ;  but,  when  he  met  Roslyn  at  tea, 
her  manner  at  once  changed  his  intention. 

"  I  stopped  to  speak  to  Dr.  Kirke,"  says  the  girl,  as 
she  sits  down ;  while  the  moonlight,  falling  on  her  face, 
shows  what  a  troubled  look  it  wears.  "  He  is  very  uneasy 
about  Colonel  Duncan." 

"  What  an  unfortunate  accident  it  was  for  you  that 
Duncan  should  have  been  brought  here  ! '    says  Laurent, 


'ROSLTN  CONSENTS.  243 

"  A  thing  of  this  kind  affects  one  just  in  proportion  as  it 
is  near  one." 

"  I  think  I  should  have  felt  for  him  just  the  same  if 
he  had  been  at  Cliffton,"  she  says,  with  a  little  indigna- 
tion in  her  voice.  "  But  even  if  I  had  not  realized  the 
sadness  quite  so  much,  I  could  not  on  that  account  wish 
that  he  had  been  taken  where  he  might  not  have  had  as 
much  care  as  he  has  had  here." 

"  He  must  wish  it  himself,  I  should  think,"  says  Lau- 
rent. "  One  does  not  like  to  be  the  cause  of  so  much 
trouble  in  another  person's  house." 

"I  hope  Colonel  Duncan  trusts  our  friendship  too 
much  to  imagine  that  we  think  of  any  trouble,"  says 
Mrs.  Arden.  "If  he  only  can  recover — "  Then  she 
pauses. 

"  Oh,  men  often  recover  after  doctors  have  read  their 
death-warrants,"  says  Laurent.  "  But  I  think  we  ought 
to  change  the  subject,"  he  continues,  looking  at  Roslyn's 
face.  "  Miss  Yardray  grows  more  and  more  sad. — Can  I 
not  divert  your  mind  %  "  he  asks,  addressing  her  directly. 
"  Will  the  moonlight  tempt  you  to  take  a  short  walk 
around  the  garden  %  " 

"  Neither  the  moonlight  nor  you,"  she  answers.  "  I 
do  not  feel  like  walking." 

After  this  rebuff,  which  makes  it  sufficiently  plain 
that  she  desires  no  tete-d-tete  with  him,  Laurent  makes  no 
further  attempt  to  secure  one. 

"  It  is  just  as  well,"  he  thinks  ;  "  there  is  no  telling 
what  folly  I  might  utter  if  I  were  alone  with  her." 

So  the  evening  passes  in  attempts  at  conversation, 
which  are  neither  cheerful  nor  very  well  sustained. 
Mrs.  Arden  and  Geoffrey  are  several  times  called  away, 
and  more  than  once  are  both  absent  for  a  considerable 


244  ROSLYN' S  FORTUNE, 

time  ;  but  Roslyn  feels  no  uneasiness  about  her  power  of 
keeping  Laurent  in  check.  Only  once,  as  if  unable  to 
refrain  from  speaking  that  of  which  his  thoughts  are  full, 
he  looks  at  her  wistfully,  and  says  : 

"  It  was  at  night  and  by  moonlight  that  I  saw  you 
last ;  but  that  was  July,  and  this  is  October." 

"  Three  months  !  "  says  the  girl,  indifferently.  "  Quite 
a  long  or  quite  a  short  time,  according  as  one  looks  at  it. 
It  seems  rather  long  to  me,  because  so  much  has  been 
crowded  into  it." 

"  And  how  long  do  you  think  it  has  seemed  to  me  ?  " 
he  asks — a  vibration  of  meaning  in  his  voice  that  is 
very  clear  to  her. 

"  How  can  I  tell  ? "  she  answers,  carelessly.  "  Very 
short,  I  dare  say.  It  really  is  a  short  time — and  you,  I 
presume,  have  had  no  novel  experiences  to  make  it  seem 
long." 

"  I  have  had  one  very  novel  experience,"  he  says,  in  a 
low  tone. 

Roslyn  does  not  ask  what  it  is.  In  proportion  as  the 
conversation  grows  personal,  she  is  aware  that  it  grows 
dangerous  ;  and  she  therefore  makes  a  diversion. 

"  I  think  I  hear  the  sound  of  wheels,"  she  says.  "  Dr. 
Chelmson  must  be  coming." 

It  is  Dr.  Chelmson,  who  a  few  minutes  later  drives 
up ;  and  after  hearing  his  report  on  Colonel  Duncan's 
case — which  is  as  discouraging  as  that  of  his  colleague — 
Laurent  takes  his  departure,  saying  that  he  will  return 
the  next  morning. 

An  hour  later  Roslyn  has  gone  to  her  room  ;  and,  hav- 
ing extinguished  her  light,  is  sitting  by  the  window,  with 
as  little  disposition  to  sleep  as  it  is  possible  for  any  one 
to  have,  when  Mrs.  Arden  opens  the  door. 


ROSLYN  CONSENTS.  245 

"Is  that  you,  my  dear?"  she  asks,  seeing  the  white 
figure  in  the  moonlight.  "  I  thought  probably  you  had 
not  gone  to  bed.  Do  you  mind  if  I  come  in  for  a  short 
while  I " 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  if  you  will,"  answers  Koslyn. 
"  I  have  been  sitting  here  looking  at  the  moonlight,  and 
I  don't  find  it  cheerful  at  all — I  suppose  because  I  am 
not  cheerful." 

Mrs.  Arden's  ear  is  quick  to  catch  the  sound  of  re- 
pressed tears  in  her  voice  ;  and  she  wonders  a  little  over 
their  cause,  as  she  closes  the  door  and  comes  forward. 

"  You  ought  to  go  to  bed  and  forget  sad  thoughts,"  she 
says,  kindly.  "  We  can  not  have  you  made  melancholy. 
Mr.  Laurent  was  right,  perhaps,  in  saying  that,  after  all, 
it  was  a  pity  Colonel  Duncan  was  brought  here." 

"  I  thought  it  a  very  selfish  speech — I  mean  a  speech 
that  showed  selfish  feeling,"  says  Koslyn  ;  "  but  I  had  no 
right  to  reproach  him,  for  I  have  made  many  just  as  self- 
ish. It  is  true  I  thought  then  Colonel  Duncan  would 
get  well ;  but  that  was  no  excuse." 

"  You  did  not  mean  them,  I  am  sure,"  says  Mrs.  Ar- 
den.    "  You  were  only  thoughtless — never  selfish." 

"  One  is  as  sorry  sometimes  for  thoughtlessness  as  for 
selfishness,"  says  the  girl,  looking  away,  out  over  the  sil- 
ver-flooded landscape. 

"  At  least  you  have  had  no  real  thought  that  was  not 
kind,"  says  Mrs.  Arden  ;  "and  as  for  what  poor  Hugo 
Duncan  thinks  of  you — that  I  can  scarcely  tell  you." 

"  You  have  no  need  to  tell  me,"  the  girl  says,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  I  know ;  and  that  is  what  cuts  me  to  the 
heart.  He  has  given  me  everything ;  and  I  have  given 
him  nothing — hardly  a  kind  word  ;  not  even  an  anxious 
thought." 


246  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  You  are  reproaching  yourself  too  much,"  says  Mrs. 
Arden  ;  but  in  this  self-reproach  she  sees  a  better  ground 
than  she  had  hoped  to  find  for  her  scheme.  She  realizes 
that  the  situation  is  in  her  own  hands ;  and  that  it  will 
be  very  easy  to  influence  Roslyn  to  her  purpose,  if  she 
approaches  the  point  with  care  and  skill. 

"  It  is  as  well,  perhaps,  that  you  have  not  known  him 
as  he  deserves  to  be  known,"  she  says,  after  a  moment's 
pause.  "  It  is  better  to  reproach  yourself  for  having  felt 
too  little,  than  to  suffer  as  you  would  necessarily  suffer 
if  you  had  felt  more.  Ah  !  " — it  is  a  very  genuine  sigh — 
"  I  should  be  sorry  if  any  woman  who  loved  Hugo  Dun- 
can were  here  now  !  " 

"  You  think  he  is  so  certain  to  die  ? "  asks  Roslyn, 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  don't  think  the  doctors  have  much  hope ;  and  his 
situation  is  certainly  very  critical  and  dangerous.  Since 
it  is  so,"  she  adds,  after  a  minute  of  hesitation  and  reflec- 
tion, "  I  feel  that  I  must  not  delay  telling  you  something 
which  he  told  me  to-day — something  which  concerns  you 
very  much." 

The  tone  in  which  these  words  are  uttered  is  more 
expressive  than  are  the  words  themselves;  and  Eoslyn 
turns  her  face  around  with  a  quick  motion  of  surprise. 

"  Something  which  concerns  me  very  much  ? "  she 
says.     "  What  was  it,  Aunt  Lavinia  ?  " 

Mrs.  Arden  leans  forward  and  takes  her  hand — a  lit- 
tle, soft,  chill  hand. 

"  You  reproach  yourself  because  you  have  never  given 
Hugo  Duncan  anything  in  return  for  all  that  he  has  given 
you,"  she  says.  "Are  you  willing  to  give  him  some- 
thing— a  great  thing  to  him,  yet  a  slight  thing  to  you,  for 
he  only  asks  it  in  case  he  is  dying  ? " 


EOSLYN  CONSENTS.  2±7 

"  I  can  not  imagine  anything  that  I  would  not  give 
him  if  he  asked  it,"  answers  Roslyn.  "  But  I  have  no 
idea  what  it  can  be." 

"  He  asked  you  for  your  love  once,  my  dear,"  says 
the  elder  lady ;  "  and  you  told  him  that  you  could  not 
give  it.  He  asks  now  that,  in  case  he  is  dying — 're- 
member,' he  said, '  only  in  case  I  am  dying ' — you  will  let 
him  give  you  his  name  and  his  fortune." 

Silence  follows  these  words,  for  Roslyn  is  so  much 
astonished  that  she  hardly  takes  in  the  full  meaning  of 
what  she  has  heard. 

"  His  name  and  his  fortune ! "  she  repeats,  after  a 
minute.     "  I  do  not  understand — wrhat  does  he  mean  ? " 

"  Simply  that  you  will  marry  him,  my  dear,"  answers 
Mrs.  Arden.  "  Not  for  his  own  sake,"  she  adds,  hastily, 
seeing  the  girl  shrink,  "  but  for  yours.  He  wishes  to 
leave  you  his  fortune — he  has  already  done  so  in  his  will 
— but,  to  put  the  matter  beyond  all  danger  of  contest,  he 
desires  to  leave  it  in  this  way." 

"  But  I  can  not — I  can  not !  "  says  Roslyn,  in  a  chok- 
ing tone.  "  To  do  for  money  what  I  would  not  do  for 
love — oh,  I  should  feel  as  if  it  were  too  base  !  " 

"  There  is  no  reason  for  such  a  feeling,"  says  Mrs.  Ar- 
den. "Look  at  the  matter  in  this  light — the  light  in 
which  he  will  regard  it — that  you  do  it,  not  for  money, 
but  to  gratify  a  dying  man,  who  loves  you  devotedly :  to 
make  him  secure  that  what  he  wishes  you  to  have,  you 
will  have ;  and  to  show  a  last  appreciation  of  all  he  has 
desired  to  do  for  you.  If  you  know  how  much  this  has 
been — how  nobly  and  how  utterly  he  has  been  willing  to 
set  aside  self  to  serve  you — think  of  it,  and  I  am  sure  the 
thought  will  make  you  feel  that  this  last  favor  will  be  a 
small  one  for  you  to  grant." 


248  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

Almost  unconsciously  to  herself,  Mrs.  Arden's  voice 
has  taken  a  tone  of  pleading  that  is  not  lost  on  Roslyn. 
The  latter  is  already  wrought  to  a  state  of  feeling  which 
seconds  such  an  appeal  powerfully ;  and  when  to  the 
forces  of  pity,  regret,  and  reproach,  this  eager  persuasion 
is  added,  the  result  is  not  difficult  to  forecast. 

"  You  think  I  ought  to  do  it  'I "  she  asks,  breathlessly. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  hesitate,"  answers  Mrs.  Ar- 
den,  inrpulsively.  "Remember  that  he  does  not  ask  you 
to  run  any  risk  of  his  living — on  that  point  he  was  most 
emphatic.  Only  in  case  the  doctors  declare  he  must  die, 
does  he  ask  you  to  do  this." 

"  He  is  always  generous  and  thoughtful,"  says  the  girl 
in  a  stifled  voice.  "  Yes,  I  will  do  it — how  can  I  refuse  ? 
But,  O  Aunt  Lavinia,  it  does  seem  horrible  to  say,  '  only 
in  case  he  is  dying.'  " 

"  My  dear,  how  could  he  ask  it  otherwise  ? — and  how 
could  you  grant  it  otherwise  ? " 

There  is  no  answer ;  and,  after  a  moment,  Mrs.  Arden 
goes  on  : 

"  Another  thing  which  I  would  like  to  say  to  you  is 
about  Mr.  Laurent.  I  do  not  know — and  pray  under- 
stand that  I  do  not  ask — how  matters  stand  between  you ; 
but  if  you  have  any  distrust  of  him,  any  desire  to  test 
him,  and  discover  how  far  he  is  governed  by  mercenary 
hopes  and  wishes,  this  will  give  you  an  opportunity  to  do 
so.  Tell  him  to-morrow  what  you  think  of  doing,  and 
see  what  he  will  say." 

"  I  do  not  need  to  test  him,"  says  Hoslyn,  proudly. 
"  I  understand  him  thoroughly." 

"Nevertheless,  it  is  well  to  be  certain,"  says  Mrs. 
Arden.  "If  he  is  weighed  in  the  balance,  and  found 
wanting,  you  will  be  justified  in  believing  what  you  now 


WEIGHED  IN  THE  BALANCE.  249 

only  suspect.  But  I  must  not  stay  any  longer,"  she  says, 
abruptly,  as  the  striking  of  a  clock  in  the  hall  breaks  the 
silence  of  the  house.  "  You  must  go  to  bed,  my  dear,  or 
else  we  shall  have  a  very  pale  Roslyn  to-morrow.  Good- 
night.    Try  to  sleep,  and  not  to  think." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

WEIGHED    IN"    THE    BALANCE. 

Notwithstanding  Mrs.  Arden's  injunction  to  the  con- 
trary, Roslyn  passes  the  remainder  of  the  night  in  think- 
ing rather  than  in  sleeping.  It  is  long  after  she  is  left 
alone  before  she  even  lies  down ;  and  then  the  hours,  as 
they  go,  leave  her  as  wakeful  as  they  found  her.  Dawn 
is  breaking  before  the  lids  at  last  close  over  her  eves  and 
she  falls  asleep. 

When  she  wakes  it  is  with  a  sense  of  having  overslept 
her  usual  hour  of  rising,  and  she  is  scarcely  surprised  to 
find  Lettice  standing  by  the  bed,  looking  at  her  with  a 
smile. 

"  Why,  Lettice  ! '  she  says,  springing  with  a  start  to 
an  upright  position.  Am  I  very  late  ? — or  are  you  very 
early  ?  " 

"  It  is  you  who  are  very  late,"  answers  Lettice.  "  I 
found  breakfast  over  when  I  came  in ;  and  Mrs.  Arden 
said  that  you  had  been  awake  late  last  night,  so  she  would 
not  allow  you  to  be  disturbed." 

"Yes,"  says  Roslyn,  with  a  shadow  of  recollection 
falling  over  her  face.  "  I  was  late  last  night,  and — how 
is  Colonel  Duncan  this  morning?" 


250  BOSLYWS  FORTUNE. 

"  No  better,  I  was  told,"  answers  Lettice,  gravely.  "  I 
think  Dr.  Kirke  is  very  anxious  about  him." 

Roslyn  does  not  answer.  The  memory  of  last  night, 
of  all  that  Mrs.  Arden  said,  and  of  her  own  promise,  is 
too  strongly  in  her  mind  for  her  to  be  able  to  speak  on 
the  subject  in  her  usual  manner ;  so  without  a  word  she 
rises  and  begins  to  dress. 

Lettice  watches  her  some  time,  silent  but  observant, 
according  to  her  usual  fashion.    Then  she  says,  abruptly  : 

"  And  so  Mr.  Laurent  has  come — at  last !  I  expected 
him  some  time  ago.     "What  has  delayed  him  %  " 

"  1  have  not  inquired,"  Roslyn  answers,  indifferently. 
"  He  came  yesterday — to  see  Colonel  Duncan.  That  is 
all  I  know." 

"  To  see  Colonel  Duncan !  "  repeats  Lettice.  "  Well, 
yes — no  doubt  he  is  deeply  interested  in  Colonel  Dun- 
can ;  but  I  fancy  he  is  more  interested  in  something  else, 
Roslyn." 

"  Perhaps  so/'  says  Roslyn  ;  (i  but  it  is  a  question  I  do 
not  care  to  speculate  upon,  as  I  have  no  knowledge  of 
Mr.  Laurent's  subjects  of  interest.  Now,  will  you  come 
and  breakfast  with  me  ? " 

"  I  have  breakfasted,  but  I  will  go  down  with  you," 
says  Lettice,  rising,  and  feeling  as  if  some  change  which 
she  did  not  understand  had  come  over  Roslyn. 

No  one  could  be  more  conscious  of  the  change  than 
Roslyn  herself,  as  she  walks  past  the  door  of  Colonel 
Duncan's  room,  and  wonders  with  a  sense  of  awe  and  dis- 
may whether  Mrs.  Arden's  proposal  of  the  night  before 
may  not  have  been  a  dream  or  a  hallucination. 

The  first  look  at  Mrs.  Arden's  face,  when  thev  meet 
in  the  hall  below,  assures  her,  however,  that  it  was 
neither.     The  elder  lady's  glance  is  eager,  interrogative, 


WEIGHED  IN  THE  BALANCE.  251 

full  of  interest  and  anxiety.  Yet  her  words  are  sim- 
ple. 

"  I  would  not  let  you  be  disturbed,  my  dear,"  she 
says,  "  because  I  kept  you  awake  so  late  last  night.  I 
hope  you  feel  well  to-day  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you,  Aunt  Lavinia,"  answers  Kos- 
lyn  ;  but  she  does  not  repeat  the  question  which  she  has 
already  asked  Lettice — the  inquiry  about  Colonel  Duncan 
which  is  usually  first  on  her  lips  in  the  morning.  "  I 
shall  hear  soon  enough,"  she  thinks  ;  and  then  she  goes 
into  the  breakfast-room. 

While  she  is  sitting  there,  drinking  some  coffee,  and 
trying  rather  unsuccessfully  to  eat,  Geoffrey  comes  in. 

"  Good-morning,  Mademoiselle  Laziness,"  he  says, 
with  his  cheerful  smile.  "  You  were  certainly  determined 
not  to  be  the  early  bird  that  catches  the  worm,  or  the 
worm  that  is  caught  by  the  early  bird,  this  morning. 
Laurent  is  here  to  represent  either  bird  or  worm,  as  the 
case  may  be,  however." 

"  For  shame,  Geoffrey  !  "  she  answers.  "  What  dis- 
agreeable comparisons  and  suggestions !  Sit  down  and 
entertain  Lettice.  I  am  so  stupid  that  she  looks  discon- 
solate." 

"  Geoffrey  need  not  sit  down  to  entertain  me,"  says 
Lettice,  "  for  I  have  been  only  waiting  until  you  finished 
your  breakfast — or  pretense  of  breakfast — to  say  good- 
by.  I  just  ran  over  for  a  little  while,  to  hear  how  Colo- 
nel Duncan  is,  and  to  have  a  glimpse  of  you." 

"  But  you  have  not  had  a  glimpse  of  me  yet,"  says 
Roslyn,  "  and  I  want  you  to  stay  ;  so  you  must  stay." 

"  Must  I  ?  I  think  not,  with  your  majesty's  permis- 
sion. I  never  knew  any  one  to  whom  the  imperative 
mood  came  so  naturally." 


252  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Geoffrey  has  sj^oiled  me,  and  so  have  you.  But 
please  stay,  Lettice.  I  am  in  earnest  when  I  say  that  I 
want  you." 

"  Kot  very  much,  I  think,"  says  Lettice.  "  You  don't 
want  me  yet — you  have  not  decided  what  or  how  much 
to  tell  me.  When  you  do  decide,  if  you  have  any  real 
need  of  me,  you  can  come  to  me,  or  send  for  me.  Mean- 
while, I  must  go  home." 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  says  Geoffrey;  who,  being  a 
good  deal  puzzled  himself  by  the  existing  state  of  affairs, 
feels  that  he  would  like  a  confidential  talk. 

Lettice  understands  him,  and  says  nothing  dissuasive 
of  his  attention  as  she  takes  up  her  parasol.  "  A  pack- 
horse  to  bear  other  people's  burdens  is  what  I  was  made 
for,"  she  said  once  a  little  bitterly  to  Eoslyn — but  at 
least  she  is  a  willing  pack-horse ;  and  for  no  burdens 
so  willing  as  for  those  of  Geoffrey  Thorne. 

Roslyn  says  nothing  to  detain  Geoffrey,  nor  makes 
any  further  attempt  to  persuade  Lettice  to  remain.  See- 
ing that  she  is  destined  to  a  tete-a-tete  with  Laurent,  she 
determines  to  make  the  use  of  it  which  Mrs.  Arden  has 
suggested  ;  and,  as  far  as  may  be,  to  test  him  thoroughly. 

"I  am  tired  of  uncertainty,"  she  thinks.  "I  must 
know  whether  they  are  right  or  wrong.  He  shall  be 
weighed  in  the  balance,  and,  if  found  wanting,  I  am  done 
with  him  once  and  forever.  What  do  I  hope  ?  what  do 
I  desire  ?  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know.  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
being  impelled  by  circumstances  toward  some  end  which 
I  have  not  wisdom  enough  either  to  desire  or  to  seek." 

"  Eoslvn ! " 

It  is  Mrs.  Arden's  voice  speaking  unexpectedly  ;  and 
the  girl  lifts  her  head  with  a  start  from  the  hands  which 
have  been  supporting  it. 


WEIGHED  IN  THE  BALANCE.  253 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Lavinia,"  she  says.     "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"Nothing  startling,"  answers  Mrs.  Arden,  observing 
the  expression  of  apprehension  in  her  eyes.  "  I  only 
came  to  say  that  Mr.  Laurent  wants  to  know  if  he  may 
not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  this  morning." 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not,"  Roslyn  re- 
plies, as  she  rises.  "  I  was  just  thinking  that  I  would  go 
to  him,  else  he  may  fancy  that  I  am  afraid  of  him." 

"  He  is  not  likely  to  fancy  that,"  says  Mrs.  Arden, 
looking  with  a  smile  at  the  proud  young  face.  "  But 
you  had  better  go  ;  and  pray,  remember  what  I  suggested 
last  night." 

"  I  shall  not  forget,"  Roslyn  answers.  Then  she 
pauses  an  instant.  "  Was  it  a  dream,  Aunt  Lavinia,"  she 
says,  wistfully — "  the  other  which  you  suggested  %  I  al- 
most think  it  must  have  been." 

"  No,  my  dear,"  the  elder  lady  answers ;  "  it  was  not 
a  dream.  I  hope  you  do  not  mean  that  you  regret  your 
promise  ? " 

"  No,"  the  girl  answers,  gravely ;  "  I  do  not  regret 
having  made  it ;  but  I  hope — oh,  I  hope  very  much  that 
I  may  not  be  called  on  to  fulfill  it !  " 

With  this,  she  walks  away,  leaving  Mrs.  Arden  to 
look  after  her  anxiously ;  and  wonder  whether  she  had 
not  better  have  left  things  to  take  their  course. 

Such  a  doubt  as  this  is  not  likely  long  to  prevail  in  a 
mind  so  well-poised  and  well-satisfied  as  her  own ;  and 
she  is  considering  what  her  next  step  shall  be,  by  the 
time  Eoslyn  is  shaking  hands  with  Laurent. 

The  latter  is  standing  in  one  of  the  open  French  win- 
dows of  the  drawing-room  when,  hearing  a  light  tread, 
and  the  sweep  of  a  dress  across  the  floor,  he  turns  quickly, 
with  such  a  light  of  pleasure  leaping  over  his  handsome 


254  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

face,  that  Roslyn — who,  up  to  this  time,  has  steeled  her- 
self against  him — suddenly  feels,  with  a  sharp  pang,  how 
hard,  how  very  hard,  it  is  to  doubt  him. 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  "  he  says,  impulsively. 
"  I  really  began  to  fear  you  were  not  coming." 

"  I  am  very  late  this  morning,"  she  answers,  "  and 
have  jnst  breakfasted.  If  people  come  so  early,  they 
must  expect  to  wait,"  she  adds,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  came  early  because  I  was  anxious  to  hear  how 
Duncan  spent  the  night,"  he  says.  "  Before  I  left  Kir- 
ton  it  was  reported  that  he  was  either  dying  or  dead." 

"  But  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that,"  says  Roslyn,  with  all 
the  color  suddenly  leaving  her  cheeks.  "  I  believe  he  is 
no  better,  but  not  worse — not  so  much  worse." 

"  No,  the  doctors  say  that  his  condition  is  much  the 
same ;  but,  since  he  is  no  better,  they  fear  the  worst.  It 
is  a  sad  case  ;  and  I  am  sorry  that  there  seems  no  pros- 
pect of  my  being  able  to  see  him." 

"  Is  there  no  prospect  of  that  ? " 

"  The  doctors  are  unwilling,  and  of  course  I  do  not 
desire  to  press  the  point." 

Silence  for  a  moment.  Hoslyn  looks  out  with  trou- 
bled eyes  over  the  brilliant  world,  thinking  of  Duncan, 
and  of  what  hangs  for  her  upon  his  life  or  death  ;  while 
Laurent,  watching  her  face,  and  failing  to  read  her 
thoughts,  presently  speaks. 

"  I  must  repeat  what  I  said  last  night,  that  this  is  a 
most  unfortunate  state  of  affairs  in  its  result  upon  you. 
I  never  saw  any  one  so  changed  as  you  seem  to  be." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  she  says,  coming  back  hastily  to  the  recol- 
lection of  things  immediately  around  her.  "  It  is  not 
strange.  I  have  much  to  change  me — much  besides  the 
sadness,  I  mean." 


WEIGHED  IN  THE  BALANCE.  255 

"  May  I  ask  what  1 "  (in  a  tone  of  solicitude  which  she 
well  remembers).  "  Surely  you  know  that  there  is  no 
one  whose  interest  in  all  that  concerns  you  is  deeper  than 
my  own," 

"  I  do  not  know  that  at  all,"  she  answers,  "  and  I 
should  give  my  other  friends  poor  appreciation  if  I  be- 
lieved it ;  but  I  am  not  sure  that  you  have  not  a  right  to 
know  something  which  is  at  present  concerning  me." 

Her  manner,  even  more  than  her  words,  surprises  him. 
She  looks  at  him  with  grave,  quiet  eyes ;  and  he,  aston- 
ished and  uncertain,  replies : 

"  I  have  the  right  of  a  deep  interest,  at  least  You 
will  do  me  great  injustice  if  yon  doubt  that." 

She  smiles  a  little — a  smile  which  means,  "  You 
have  a  deeper  interest  than  you  know "  ;  but  he  is  not 
able  to  read  the  meaning,  and  it  puzzles  him.  By  this 
time  his  curiosity  is  awakened,  and  his  interest  stimu- 
lated. The  fair  face  at  which  he  looks  baffles  as  well  as 
charms  him,  and  no  man  likes  to  be  baffled — especially 
by  a  woman. 

"  Yes,  I  will  tell  you,"  she  says,  quietly,  "  because  I 
feel  that,  being  Colonel  Duncan's  nearest  relative,  you 
have  a  right  to  hear.  You  must  know,  then,  that,  in  his 
generous  kindness,  he  desires  to  leave  his  fortune  to  me  " 
— her  eyes,  that  do  not  swerve  from  the  face  before  her, 
read  all  the  change  that  comes  over  it  as  she  utters  these 
words — "  and  he  thinks  that  the  best  way  to  do  this  will 
be  for  me  to  marry  him." 

Her  voice  stops,  and  it  is  fully  a  minute  before  Laurent 
can  decide  what  to  say,  or  find  words  in  which  to  utter 
it.  This  revelation  is  so  wholly  unexpected,  that  he  can 
not  at  once  see  what  it  is  best  to  do,  or  how  he  should 
face  it.     He  is  conscious  that  his  countenance  has  be- 


256  EOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

trayed  his  dismay ;  but  after  a  quick  reflection,  a  quick 
rallying  of  his  forces,  he  hopes  that  this  dismay  can  be 
turned  to  good  account. 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  do  it  %  "  he  asks,  at  length,  his 
voice  quivering  despite  his  efforts  to  control  it,  and  his 
eyes  expressing  all  the  emotions  that  have  rushed  over 
him. 

"  That  I  do  not  know,"  she  answers,  slowly.  "  My 
decision  depends  on  many  things."  Then  she  looks  at 
him  with  a  full,  challenging  gaze.  "  What  do  you  advise 
me  to  do  ?  "  she  asks. 

The  pause  which  ensues  is  more  full  of  meaning  and 
uncertainty  than  any  which  has  preceded  it,  for  both  are 
aware  how  much  hangs  on  the  next  words.  Koslyn  feels 
her  pulses  beating  with  a  vibrating  rush,  and  Laurent 
has  an  instinct,  though  no  full  recognition,  of  all  that  is 
at  stake  for  him.  If  such  a  marriage  takes  place  and  Dun- 
can lives,  Roslyn,  of  course,  is  lost  to  him  f orever.  But, 
then,  if  Duncan  lives,  is  not  Roslyn  probably  lost  to 
him  in  any  event  ?  Whereas,  if  Duncan  dies — he  almost 
grows  giddy  as  he  thinks  of  what  may  follow  then  : 
Cliffton  his,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  fortune  which  he  cov- 
ets, Boslyn's — his  eyes  glow  as  he  looks  at  her.  All 
doubts  of  his  hold  upon  her  disappear.  Would  she 
come  and  ask  his  advice,  throw  the  virtual  weight  of  de- 
cision upon  him  in  this  manner,  if  his  power  were  not  as 
great  as  ever  with  her,  if  whatever  was  hers  might  not, 
at  a  word,  be  his  ?  These  reflections  pass  rapidly  through 
his  mind — and  then  he  speaks  : 

"  Since  you  ask  my  advice,  I  can  only  say  that  it  is 
hard  to  refuse  a  dying  man  anything  he  asks.  And  this 
man  loves  you." 

"  Yes,  he  loves  me,  too  well,"  she  says,  in  a  low  tone. 


WEIGHED  IN  THE  BALANCE.  257 

"  But  this  is  a  great  deal  to  ask.  And  then — I  must 
think — mistakes  are  possible  :  what  if  he  should  not  be  a 
dying  man  ?  " 

"That  is  taken  in  the  risk,"  says  Laurent,  too  ab- 
sorbed in  his  own  view  of  the  matter  to  consider  that 
hers  may  be  different.  "  It  is  like  playing  for  a  high 
stake.  The  chance  of  failure  enters ;  but  one  thinks  of 
the  gain,  and  plays  boldly — to  win  or  lose.  And  there  is 
so  much  to  win  here — wealth,  happiness  :  for  you  must 
know  that  only  want  of  wealth  has  held  me  back  from 
you ! " 

"  I  thought — I  understood,"  says  Roslyn,  "  that  the 
obstacle  which  held  you  back  was  honor." 

"  Ah,  what  did  that  signify  ?  "  he  cries,  spreading  out 
his  hands  with  a  dramatic  gesture.  "Do  you  think  I 
would  not  have  burst  that  bond  without  a  thought — to 
come  to  you?  But  I  could  not,  I  dared  not.  I  was 
held,  as  in  a  chain,  by  the  bitterest  curse  of  human  ex- 
istence— want  of  money.  I  could  not  ask  you  to  share 
— ruin.  But  fortune  has  come  to  our  aid  as  I  never 
dreamed  that  it  would.  When  Duncan  dies,  Cliffton, 
you  know,  will  be  mine ;  and  if  the  rest  is  yours — ah, 
then  happiness  will  be  ours  at  last  !  " 

"  Will  it  ? "  says  Roslyn,  in  a  cold  voice.  At  that 
moment  every  shred  of  illusion  falls,  and  she  sees  him  as 
he  is — with  his  beautiful  exterior,  and  his  hard,  selfish 
heart.  "  My  God !  to  think  that  I  nearly  loved  him  !  " 
she  says  to  herself  with  a  shudder.  The  repulsion  which 
overcomes  her  is  stronger  for  the  reaction  from  the  fancy 
which  went  before.  She  can  hardly  force  herself  to  go 
on  addressing  him. 

"  Will  it  not  ?  "  he  says,  quickly.  "  Of  course,  there 
is  no  certainty  until  Colonel  Duncan's  death  ;  but  then — " 


258  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  But  then  you  are  ready  to  take  his  inheritance  and 
enjoy  it !  "  cries  Roslyn,  possessed  with  passionate  indig- 
nation. "  I  suppose  one  should  not  blame  you  for  that. 
Men  like  you  must  feel  and  act  according  to  their  nature. 
But,  gracious  Heaven !  what  a  heart  you  must  have,  to 
deliberately  plan — and  hope — like  this,  while  he  lies  be- 
tween life  and  death  who  has  been  so  kind — so  gener- 
ous— !  "  She  pauses,  almost  choked  by  emotion  ;  but,  re- 
covering herself,  goes  on  hurriedly  :  "  This,  however,  con- 
cerns only  yourself.  What  concerns  me — me,  whom  you 
desire  to  use  as  the  ball  that  is  thrown  for  good  or  ill 
fortune  in  play — is  to  let  you  know  at  once  the  greatness 
of  your  mistake,  when  you  dare  to  fancy  that  I  am  yours, 
to  be  played  for  the  high  stakes  you  covet ! " 

He  sees  his  mistake,  indeed,  in  the  flashing  lightning 
of  her  eyes,  and  absolutely  quails  before  her. 

"  I  never  dared  to  think  you  mine,"  he  says ;  "  but, 
since  I  love  you — " 

She  stops  him  with  a  gesture  of  scorn.  "  Love  ! " 
she  says.  "  Do  not  make  me  hate  the  word  which  ought 
to  represent  a  noble  thing  !  You  love  me — and  yet  you 
are  willing  to  risk  the  absolute  loss  of  me  !  You  are 
willing  that  1  should  become  the  wife  of  a  man  who  may 
live — in  the  hope  that  he  may  die,  and  so  I  would  be 
able  to  come  to  you  as  his  widow,  enriched  with  his  for- 
tune !  I  do  not  understand  such  love,  Mr.  Laurent — or, 
rather,  I  understand  and  despise  it.  God  grant  that 
Colonel  Duncan  may  live ;  but,  whether  he  lives  or  dies, 
I  am  done  with  you  forever!  You  deceived  me  once 
— when  you  talked  of  honor,  and  thought  of  money. 
You  will  never  deceive  me  again.  It  may  spare  you 
future  disappointment  to  understand  and  believe  this  at 
once." 


GEOFFREY  GIVES  HIS  OPINION.  259 

With  these  words,  she  turns,  and,  before  he  can  speak, 
were  he  so  inclined,  has  crossed  the  room  swiftly  and  dis- 
appeared. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

GEOFFREY    GIVES    IIIS    OPINION. 

So  far,  things  have  worked  so  smoothly  toward  Mrs. 
Arden's  end,  that  she  is  not  prepared  to  encounter  finally 
a  spirited  opposition.  This  comes  from  Dr.  Kirke,  who 
hears  of  what  is  proposed  with  mingled  wrath  and  dis- 
gust. Indeed,  it  is  difficult  to  express  within  due  bounds 
what  he  thinks  of  such  sentimental  folly. 

"  If  you  want  to  kill  the  man,"  he  says,  brusquely, 
"  you  could  not  find  a  better  way  to  do  it — that  is  all ! ' 

"  But,  doctor,"  says  Mrs.  Arden,  "  you  forget  what  I 
have  told  you,  that  Colonel  Duncan  only  wishes  this  in 
case  he  must  die.  If  there  were  already  no  hope  of  his 
recovery,  it  could  not  kill  him,  you  know." 

"  While  there  is  life  there  is  hope,"  replies  the  doctor, 
sharply.  "  I  never  give  up  fighting  until  the  patient  is 
in  articulo  mortis.  Besides,  where  is  the  sense  of  such 
a  proceeding  ?  If  he  must  die,  why  may  he  not  as  well 
die  single  as  married  ?  " 

"  That,"  says  Mrs.  Arden,  with  dignity,  "  you  will 
admit  is  for  him  to  decide.  He  simply  desires  that  this 
ceremony  may  take  place  when  you  declare  that  he  can 
not  recover." 

"  When  I  declare  that  he  can  not  recover,  he  will  be 
too  far  gone  to  admit  of  any  ceremony,"  says  the  doctor ; 


260  ROSLYN' S  FORTUNE. 

"  and  if  you  attempt  such  a  thing  in  his  present  condi- 
tion, I  warn  you  that  you  will  probably  kill  him,  and  I 
shall  decline  any  further  responsibility  in  the  case." 

"With  this  ultimatum  he  walks  away,  leaving  Mrs. 
Arden  in  a  state  of  indignation  and  indecision.  To  pro- 
ceed in  the  face  of  such  an  opinion  seems  impossible,  yet 
to  abandon  her  plan  is  more  than  she  can  think  of  doing. 
The  result  is,  that  she  goes  to  Geoffrey  for  advice,  and 
amazes  him  scarcely  less  than  she  has  amazed  the  doctor 
by  the  revelation  of  her  intention. 

Nor  is  Geoffrey's  surprise  unmingled  with  other  sen- 
sations. To  give  up  Roslyn — that  is,  all  hope  of  winning 
her — as  he  has  done  in  his  heart,  is  one  thing;  and  to 
hear  that  she  is  absolutely  on  the  point  of  marrying  an- 
other man,  is  quite  another.  The  old  passion,  the  old 
jealousy,  rises  hot  and  strong  in  his  breast,  and  he  dis- 
mays Mrs.  Arden  by  the  manner  in  which  he  says  : 

"  Great  Heaven !  Aunt  Lavinia,  what  are  you  think- 
ing of  ?     Has  Roslyn  consented  to  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Roslyn  has  consented,"  answers  Mrs.  Arden. 
"  I  do  not  see  how  she  could  refuse.  Colonel  Duncan 
only  asks  it  in  case  he  is  dying." 

"  Then  whv  should  he  ask  it  at  all  ?  "  demanded  Geof- 
frey,  as  the  doctor  has  asked  before  him.  "  I  see  no 
reason  why,  for  a  mere  sentiment  which  can  do  him  no 
possible  good,  he  should  want  to  turn  Roslyn  into  a  ivid- 
ow  !     The  mere  thought  is  intolerable." 

"  It  is  for  her  own  sake — I  have  told  you  that.  He 
wishes  to  secure  his  fortune  to  her." 

"Has  he  not  already  done  so  by  leaving  it  to  her  in 
his  will?  The  whole  thing  is  nonsense,  Aunt  Lavinia, 
and  I  am  surprised  that  a  woman  of  your  sense  should 
have  entertained  such  an  idea  !     It  is  not  like  Duncan  to 


GEOFFREY  GIVES  HIS  0PIXI02T.  261 

have  so  little  thought — -not  to  consider  how  much  un- 
necessary pain  he  would  give  Roslyn — and  I  really  think 
he  must  have  made  the  request  when  he  was  delirious." 

"  He  was  nothing  of  the  kind,"  says  Mrs.  Arden,  who 
has  not  courage  to  acknowledge  her  own  share  in  the 
matter.  "  He  was  as  clear  in  his  mind  as  you  are  this 
moment.  I  wish  you  would  be  reasonable,  Geoffrey,  be- 
cause I  want  to  ask  your  advice  how  to  proceed.  Dr. 
Kirke  will  not  hear  of  countenancing  the  matter.  He 
says  it  will  kill  Colonel  Duncan — although  I  have  dis- 
tinctly told  him  that  Colonel  Duncan  only  wishes  the 
ceremony  performed  in  case  he  can  not  recover." 

"  There  is  absolutely  no  reason  for  such  a  request," 
says  Geoffrey;  "and  I  thought  Duncan  was  a  man  of 
more  sense  and  unselfishness  than  to  make  it.  I  have  no 
advice  to  offer,  Aunt  Lavinia.  I  don't  at  all  see  how  you 
are  to  proceed,  unless  by  simply  being  prepared  to  seize 
the  final  moment  when  the  doctor  says,  '  He  is  dying ' — 
a  moment  not  very  favorable  for  anything  of  the  kind 
you  pror^ose,  in  real  life,  whatever  it  may  be  in  ro- 
mances." 

"  Geoffrey !  "  says  Mrs.  Arden,  in  a  tone  of  reproach. 
Then  she  rises — "I  see  that  I  need  not  have  consulted 
you,"  she  says.  C<I  gave  you  credit  for  more  good  feeling 
than  it  seems  you  possess." 

"  It  does  not  strike  me  that  good  feeling  is  what  is 
called  for,  so  much  as  common  sense,"  says  Geoffrey. 
"Have  you  thought  how  painful  in  many  respects  it 
would  be  to  Roslyn  ? " 

"  Eoslyn  is  quite  willing  to  undergo  the  pain,"  says 
Mrs.  Arden.  "She  feels  that  it  is  a  very  slight  thing 
which  is  demanded  of  her,  to  gratify  the  wish  of  a  dying 
man  who  would  count  no  sacrifice  to  serve  her." 


262  EOSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

With  these  words  she  leaves  the  room,  -without 
giving  Geoffrey  time  to  reply — a  fortunate  thing,  per- 
haps, since  Geoffrey's  reply  would  not  be  likely  to  please 
her. 

"  Count  no  sacrifice  to  serve  her !  "  repeats  the  young 
man.  "  There  are  others  besides  him,  of  whom  that  may 
be  said,  but  who  would  not  make  it  a  reason  for  asking 
a  very  painful  sacrifice  of  her.  I  would  not  have 
thought  it  of  Duncan — I  really  would  not !  " 

And  in  this  judgment  Geoffrey  is  no  more  mistaken 
or  short-sighted  than  the  most  of  us  are  in  judgments 
that  we  pass  every  day — drawing  conclusions  from  errone- 
ous premises,  and  pronouncing  opinions  upon  actions  the 
motives  of  which  we  can  not  gauge. 

"  I'll  see  Roslyn  at  least,"  he  thinks,  after  a  short  re- 
flection ;  "  and  if  she  is  averse — as  well  she  may  be — to 
this  thing,  she  shall  not  be  forced  into  it  by  Duncan's 
selfishness,  or  Aunt  Lavinia's  scheming.  The  fortune, 
indeed!  Confound  the  fortune — as  if  Roslyn  needed 
any  fortune  beyond  herself  !  " 

With  such  thoughts  the  impetuous  young  fellow 
swings  himself  out  of  the  room,  and  proceeds  to  search 
for  Roslyn.  But  that  young  lady  is  more  easily  sought 
than  found.  She  is  not  to  be  discovered  in  the  house  ;  so 
he  turns  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  garden,  and 
fails,  also,  to  find  her  there.  He  might  imagine  that  she 
has  gone  out  with  Laurent,  but  for  the  fact,  of  which  he 
has  heard,  that  this  gentleman  went  away  alone  some 
time  before.  Much  puzzled,  therefore,  he  is  retracing 
his  steps  toward  the  house,  when  Ruby,  Mr.  Vardray's 
favorite  setter,  and  Roslyn's  devoted  attendant,  espies 
him,  and  comes  dashing  to  him  from  the  orchard. 

"  By  Jove !  why  didn't  I  think  of  it  before  ? — that  is 


GEOFFREY  GIVES  HIS  OPINION.  263 

where  she  is !  "  he  says  aloud,  as  the  dog  springs  upon 
him. 

A  pleasant  place  it  is  in  the  orchard,  and  a  favorite 
place  of  Koslyn's,  under  the  low-spreading  apple-trees, 
where  a  minute  later  he  finds  her.  She  is  sitting  on  the 
grass,  and,  without  stirring,  she  looks  up  with  a  slight 
smile  as  he  draws  near. 

"  So  you  have  found  me  ?  "  she  says.  "  I  did  not 
fancy  any  one  would  think  of  looking  for  me  here." 

''-  Which  means  that  you  came  here  to  avoid  being 
found,"  he  says.  "  After  that,  I  would  beg  pardon  and 
go  away,  if  I  had  not  a  special  reason  for  seeking  you  ; 
but  I  have  one  :  so  I  hope  you  will  bear  with  me  and  let 
me  stay." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answers,  indifferently  ;  "  stay,  if  you 
like — it  does  not  matter.  I  only  wanted  a  little  while  to 
myself  to  think  ;  and  I  have  had  it." 

"  Do  I  know  the  subject  of  your  thoughts  ? "  asks 
Geoffrey,  throwing  himself  down  on  the  grass,  and  look- 
ing at  the  fair  face  which  of  late  has  grown  so  much 
graver. 

"  Do  you  know  the  subject  of  my  thoughts  ? "  she  re- 
peats. "In  a  general  sense,  you  know  the  subject  of 
them ;  but  you  could  scarcely  know  what  I  was  think- 
ing on  that  subject." 

"  Tell  me  the  subject,  and  let  me  guess." 

She  shakes  her  head.  "  If  it  were  worth  while  for 
you  to  guess,  I  might,"  she  says  ;  "  but  it  is  not." 

"  Were  you  thinking  of  something  of  which  I  have 
just  heard,"  he  asks,  quickly — "  something  which  Aunt 
Lavinia  has  just  told  me  ?  Eoslyn,  are  you  troubled 
about  the  promise  which  has  been  drawn  from  you  with 
regard  to  Colonel  Duncan  ?  " 


264  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Xo,"  she  answers,  quietly,  "  I  am  not  troubled  about 
that.  Why  should  I  be  ?  It  is  not  much  that  he  asks  in 
comparison  to  all  that  he  has  given." 

"  But  this  is  not  a  matter  of  debit  and  credit,"  says 
Geoffrey.  "I  was  afraid  you  were  taking  that  view, 
and  therefore  I  want  to  tell  you  that  it  is  wrong.  You 
are  not  bound  in  the  least  to  do  this  thing,  Koslyn,  if  it 
is  painful  to  you  ;  and  painful  it  must  be.  It  is  a  very 
selfish  thing  of  Colonel  Duncan  to  ask — although  I  sup- 
pose one  should  make  allowances  for  a  man  who  is  in 
love  and  has  a  fever." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  a  selfish  thing,"  says  Roslyn,  has- 
tily. "  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  as  unselfish  as  every- 
thing else  about  him.  He  is  not  thinking  of  himself,  but 
of  me." 

"  He  desires  to  give  you  his  fortune,  I  know,"  says 
Geoffrey ;  "  but  this  is  a  very  unnecessary  step  to  that 
end.     His  will  is  sufficient  to  secure  it  to  you." 

She  makes  a  slight  gesture,  significant  both  of  impa- 
tience and  indifference.  "  I  care  nothing  about  that," 
she  says,  "  whether  it  is  or  is  not  necessary.  He  asks  it 
— that  is  enough." 

A  short  silence  follows.  Eoslyn  looks  away  across 
the  meadows,  toward  the  fringing,  many-tinted  woods, 
while  Geoffrey  looks  at  her  thoughtful  face  and  ponders 
the  situation. 

CiI  can't  understand  it!"  he  breaks  out  at  length. 
"  I  am  puzzled  as  I  never  was  before  in  my  life  !  What 
motive  Duncan  has  for  this  request,  and  why  you  should 
accede  to  it  from  a  man  for  whom  you  have  no  liking  be- 
yond friendliness,  I  can  not  make  out.  If  I  could  im- 
agine that  the  fortune  tempts  you,  it  would  be  another 
matter." 


GEOFFREY  GIVES  HIS  OPINION.  265 

"  I  have  not  thought  of  the  fortune  at  all,"  she  says, 
"  except  that  I  realize  how  kind  it  is  of  him  to  wish  to 
give  it  to  me ;  and  I  have  made  it  a  test,  for — some  one 
else." 

Geoffrey's  heart  leaps.  "  You  mean  Laurent  ? "  he 
exclaims. 

"  Yes,"  she  replies,  "  I  mean  Mr.  Laurent.  I  could 
not  be  satisfied  of  being  quite  just  to  him  unless  I  tested 
him  in  some  way,  and  this  way  presented  itself.  I  told 
him  what  it  was  proposed  I  should  do,  and  he — but  stop 
a  moment !  Tell  me,  Geoffrey,  what  you  would  have 
answered  in  his  place." 

"In  his  place,"  answers  Geoffrey,  "loving  you  and 
hoping  that  you  might  love  me,  I  should  have  begged 
you  not  to  think  of  doing  such  a  thing.  I  should  have 
said  that  no  fortune  could  repay  me  for  the  fact  that  you 
were,  even  for  one  hour,  the  wife  of  another  man  ! ' 

"Mr.  Laurent  was  less  romantic,"  she  says,  with  a 
faint,  bitter  smile.  "  He  at  once  advised  me  to  marry 
Colonel  Duncan." 

"  Of  course — thinking  that  he  could  in  that  case  win 
both  you  and  the  fortune." 

"  Yes :  and  was  it  not  mv  fault  that  he  should  have 

j  t/ 

thought  he  had  but  to  speak — and  win  me  ?  Oh,  what  a 
fool,  what  a  fool  I  have  been !  Geoffrey,  I  scorn  myself 
as  much  as  you  can  scorn  me !  " 

She  looks  at  him  with  eyes  that  shine ;  the  color  has 
risen  into  her  face,  and  he  sees  that  her  hands  are  trem- 
bling with  excitement. 

"If  you  scorn  yourself,"  he  says,  "no  more  than  I 
scorn  you,  Roslyn,  you  need  not  torment  yourself  with 
that  sentiment  at  all.  How  could  you  know  at  first  what 
is  plain  to  you  now  % " 

12 


266  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  But  to  trust  at  all,  to  think  at  all  of  a  man  who  was 
avowedly  acting  a  dishonorable  part — that  is  what  I  can 
not  forgive  myself !  " 

"  You  forget  how  many  extenuating  circumstances 
there  were  or  appeared  to  be,"  says  Geoffrey.  "Don't 
be  hard  on  yourself !  You  were  only  a  little  foolish,  as 
any  girl  would  have  been ;  and  you  acted  in  a  difficult 
position  with  a  dignity  and  discretion  which  few  girls 
could  have  displayed." 

"  Ah,  you  say  so  to  comfort  me  ;  but  I — '  I  am  shamed 
through  all  rny  nature,'  to  remember  my  folly ! " 

"  If  the  wound  is  only  to  your  pride,"  says  Geoffrey, 
"  I  am  content — and  so  should  you  be." 

"  It  is  only  to  that,"  she  says — but  says  with  a  quiver 
in  her  voice,  "  I  am  hardly  contemptible  enough  to  break 
my  heart  about  such  a  man !  I  don't  know  that  any  man  is 
worth  breaking  one's  heart  about,  unless — unless  it  be  the 
man  who  is  dying  yonder,  and  for  whom  I  never  cared." 

Her  voice  sinks,  and  Geoffrey  makes  no  answer.  In- 
deed, a  light  dawns  suddenly  upon  him  like  a  revelation, 
and  in  the  surprise  of  this  revelation  he  can  find  no  words. 
As  has  been  already  said,  the  old  passion  and  jealousy 
have  been  roused  within  him,  and  now  they  stir  tumult- 
uously. 

"Have  I  not  given  you  as  much  as  he?':  he  is  in- 
clined to  ask,  but  restrains  the  impulse,  being  wise 
enough  to  understand  (many  a  man  does  not)  that  only 
received  love  has  a  claim  upon  its  object,  not  that  which 
is  given  without  recognition  or  return.  Besides,  has  he 
not  promised  Roslyn  to  be  only  her  brother  henceforth  ? 
And  as  her  brother  he  feels  that  now  he  may  find  oppor- 
tunity to  serve  her.  These  thoughts  require  some  time 
to  pass  through  his  mind,  and  hence  several  minutes 


GEOFFREY  GIVES  HIS  OPINION.  267 

elapse  before  lie  speaks  again.     Then  he  says,  with  some- 
thin  o;  of  wistful  gentleness  : 

"  I  should  be  sorry  for  you  to  break  your  heart  about 
any  man,  Eoslyn.  It  always  seems  to  me — it  always  has 
seemed  to  me — as  if  you  were  made  for  the  brightness 
and  sweetness  of  life,  not  for  its  pain  and  gloom.  You 
remember  my  old  quotation  about  you : 

'  The  world,  that  knows  itself  too  sad, 
Is  proud  to  keep  some  faces  glad ' — 

and  your  face  was  made  to  be  glad.''' 

"  You  want  me  to  take  all  and  give  nothing,  then  ?  I 
always  said  that  you  thought  me  a  soulless  creature,  a 
human  butterfly,  only  fit  for  sunshine.  I  don't  say  that 
you  are  not  right.  I  am  frivolous,  and  I  know  it.  But 
I  can  feel  a  little — at  last." 

She  has  not  looked  toward  him  as  she  utters  these 
words,  but  still  away  across  the  meadows  toward  the 
woods ;  so  he  does  not  see  how  tears  are  filling  her  eyes, 
but  he  does  hear  the  ring  of  pain  and  reproach  in  her 
voice,  and  he  answers,  quickly  : 

"If  it  is  to  be  a  soulless  creature  to  make  sunshine 
and  gladness  and  happiness  for  others  in  a  world  that  is 
too  sad,  then  I  think  you  so.  But  with  all  your  bright- 
ness I  was  never  dull  enough  to  fancy  that  you  could  not 
feel ;  and  my  only  fear  is  that  you  may  feel  too  much — 
that  at  this  present  time  you  are  willing  to  sacrifice  your- 
self from  pity  and  causeless  self-reproach." 

She  shakes  her  head.  "  You  are  mistaken,"  she  says. 
"  There  is  no  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  in  me.  If  I  were  un- 
willing to  do  this  which  is  asked  of  me,  no  doubt  I  should 
be  selfish  enough  to  refuse ;  but  I  am  willing,  quite  will- 
ing— pray  believe  it." 


268  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  '  Who  is't  can  read  a  woman  ? '  "  Geoffrey  thinks, 
looking  into  the  clear  yet  baffling  eyes  that  meet  his 
own.  What  to  make  of  this  woman  he  does  not  know ; 
but  his  doubts  do  not  shake  his  loyalty  of  intention.  "  Of 
course,  it  is  a  matter  which  you  alone  can  decide,"  he 
says,  at  last.  "  I  only  felt  bound  to  let  you  know  what  I 
thought.  I  hope  you  will  not  imagine  that  I  have  been 
actuated  by  selfishness  or  jealousy." 

"  I  could  not  do  you  such  injustice,"  she  answers.  "I 
know  well  that  you  think  too  little  of  yourself,  and  far, 
far  too  much  of  me.  I  don't  deserve  it,  Geoffrey — I 
have  been  worse  than  a  fool !  " 

"  Never  mind  what  you  have  been,"  he  says,  smiling ; 
"you  are  queen  of  all  our  hearts,  and  you  shall  have  your 
birthright  of  happy  fortune  yet.  Now,  come" — he  rises 
and  holds  out  his  hand  to  assist  her  to  her  feet.  "Let  us 
go  to  the  house.  No  one  would  know  where  to  find  you 
if — you  were  needed.  And  I  want  to  see  the  progress 
and  end  of  Aunt  Lavinia's  schemes." 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

THE    END    OF    SUSPENSE. 

The  day  wears  away  in  a  suspense  which  the  house- 
hold of  Verdevale  are  not  likely  soon  to  forget.  In  the 
sick-room,  which  the  doctors  have  hardly  left  at  all,  the 
most  critical  period  of  the  prolonged  battle  between  life 
and  death  has  come,  and,  when  the  sun  sets,  no  one  knows 
what  its  issue  will  be. 

"  To  night  the  final  crisis  occurs,"  the  physicians  say. 


THE  END  OF  SUSPENSE.  269 

"  If  by  morning  be   is   not   materially  better,  he  will 

die." 

It  is  a  night  of  crisis  for  Hosl yn,  as  well  as  for  the  al- 
most dying  man.  Alone  through  its  long  hours,  unable  to 
sleep  and  racked  by  sore  anxiety,  she  arrives  at  a  clearer 
knowledge  of  herself,  of  her  own  needs  and  desires,  than 
she  has  ever  had  before ;  and  she  weighs  in  a  balance 
many  things  besides  the  spurious  devotion  of  Laurent. 
The  latter,  indeed,  has  little  place  in  her  thoughts ;  his 
influence  on  her  life,  which  was  but  weak  and  tran- 
sient, has  passed  away  so  completely  that  she  recalls  it 
only  as  one  waking  from  sleep  might  recall  a  feverish 
dream.  All  her  thoughts  are  given  to  Duncan  ;  and  she 
goes  back  over  the  life-long  record  of  her  association 
with  him,  and  the  record,  quite  as  long,  of  his  affection 
for  her,  with  that  aching  sense  of  the  "  too  late  !  "  which 
is  the  most  keen  of  all  the  bitter  pains  of  existence. 
"  Does  one  never  realize  the  value  of  a  thing  until  it  is 
taken  from  one  % "  she  asks,  with  sobbing  breath.  "  All 
these  years  I  have  been  so  utterly  indifferent ;  and 
now,  now  that  I  appreciate  at  last  what  he  is,  he  is 
dying,  and  I  can  never,  never  let  him  know  that  I  am 
not  the  weak,  vain  fool  he  has  taken  me  to  be,  and  that 
I  have  been." 

In  this  way  the  night  passes ;  and,  when  the  first  ray 
of  daylight  streams  into  the  room,  she  turns  her  face 
away — for  what  news  may  it  herald  ?  As  the  light  slowly 
broadens,  her  anxiety  grows  more  intense  to  learn  how  the 
night  has  sped  ;  but  she  can  not  bear  to  end  the  suspense 
by  going  to  inquire,  for  even  suspense  is  sometimes  bet- 
ter than  crushing  certainty.  The  only  comfort  which  she 
has  is  that,  if  he  is  dying,  there  is  one  thing  which  she 
may  yet  do  for  him  before  he  goes,  though  he  can  never 


270  EOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

learn  with  what  a  willing  heart  it  is  done.  "  I  must  be 
ready  and  strong  enough  for  that,"  she  thinks,  choking 
back  her  tears. 

A  little  later,  just  as  the  sun  rises,  a  step  comes  down 
the  passage  and  pauses  at  her  door.  Her  heart  seems 
to  pause  also — literally  to  suspend  its  pulsations — in  the 
interval  of  apparent  hesitation  before  the  door  uncloses, 
and  the  kindly  face  of  Mrs.  Knight  looks  in. 

"  I  thought  you'd  be  awake,  Miss  Roslyn,"  she  says, 
as  the  girl's  large,  dilated  eyes  meet  hers  ;  "  so  I've  come 
to  tell  you  that  the  colonel's  better." 

"  Better  ! '  repeats  Koslyn,  with  a  gasp.  So  entirely 
has  she  prepared  herself  to  hear  the  worst,  that  the  shock 
of  surprise  is  too  great  for  her  to  take  in  the  idea  at  once. 
"  Do  you  mean  that  he  will  not  die  ?  "  she  asks,  after  an 
instant's  breathless  pause. 

"  I  hope  not,"  says  Mrs.  Knight.  "  The  doctors  seem 
to  think  he  won't.  Dr.  Kirke  looks  cheerfuler  than  I've 
seen  him  for  a  long  time.  So  now  you  may  try  and  go 
to  sleep,  my  child — you  are  as  white  as  a  sheet." 

She  closes  the  door  and  goes  away,  leaving  Roslyn  in 
a  trance  of  amazed  relief.  She  has  not  thought  of  this 
at  all ;  she  has  been  sure  that  he  would,  that  he  must,  die  ! 
The  reaction  of  emotion  is  so  great,  she  has  been  so  spent 
by  the  vigil  and  suffering  of  the  night,  that  consciousness 
almost  leaves  her  as  she  sinks  back  on  the  pillow  of  the 
bed,  saving,  inarticulately,  "  Thank  God  !  " 

She  is  still  as  pale  as  a  lily,  but  her  expression  is  more 
bright  than  it  has  been  for  many  a  day,  when  Mrs.  Ar- 
den  sees  her  a  few  hours  later.  "  She  is  glad  to  be  spared 
the  marriage,"  that  lady  thinks.  "  Poor  Colonel  Dun- 
can !  What  a  pity  that  he  has  set  his  heart  on  a  girl  who 
will  never  care  for  him ! " 


THE  END   OF  SUSPENSE.  271 

"  Good  news  this  morning,  my  dear,"  she  says,  aloud. 
"  The  crisis  passed  so  favorably  that  the  doctors  think 
Colonel  Duncan  will  recover.  I  would  not  disturb  you 
at  daylight  to  tell  you,  and  I  went  to  sleep  soon  after- 
ward ;  but  I  suppose  you  have  heard." 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Knight  came  to  tell  me  very  early,"  an- 
swers Roslyn.  "  You  might  have  known  that  I  would  be 
glad  to  be  disturbed  to  hear  such  news,  Aunt  Lavinia." 

"  You  had  certainly  a  personal  interest  in  hearing  it," 
says  Mrs.  Arden. 

The  girl  flushes.  "  I  did  not  mean  that"  she  says. 
"  There  was  nothing  personal  in  my  gladness." 

"  I  know  there  was  not,"  says  Mrs.  Arden,  kissing  her 
with  an  impulse  of  self-reproach. 

Later  in  the  morning  Laurent  comes,  and,  as  it  chances, 
Roslyn  is  on  the  veranda  when  he  enters  the  gate  at  the 
foot  of  the  lawn.  She  turns  at  once  to  Geoffrey,  who  is 
with  her. 

"  Yonder  comes  Mr.  Laurent,"  she  says.  "  Tell  him 
the  news — which  will  be  very  unwelcome  news  to  him. 
/do  not  wish  to  see  or  to  speak  to  him." 

"  But  if  he  asks  for  you  % "  says  Geoffrey,  quickly,  as 
she  moves  away. 

"  He  will  not  ask,"  she  answers,  passing  around  the 
corner  of  the  veranda  and  disappearing. 

But,  though  she  disappears,  she  does  not  enter  the 
house.  The  day  is  too  beautiful,  and  her  heart  is  too 
light,  in  its  relief  from  anxiety,  for  her  to  be  satisfied  in- 
doors. By  a  retired,  hedged  path  she  takes  her  way  to 
the  garden,  and,  after  wandering  idly  to  and  fro  among 
the  flowers  for  some  time,  she  decides  that  she  will  go 
and  carry  the  good  news  to  Lettice  and  Mrs.  Stanley.  It 
has  been  long  since  she  has  taken  the  woodland  walk — 


272  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

long  since  she  has  felt  any  inclination  to  do  so — but  to- 
day it  will  be  a  pleasure ;  to-day — 

"  Miss  Yardray  !  " 

Her  hand  is  on  the  latch  of  the  gate,  which  opens  on 
the  woods,  when  her  name,  called  low  and  eagerly  by  a 
well-known  voice,  arrests  her  steps  and  makes  her  turn. 
As  she  sees  Laurent  advancing  toward  her,  her  face  grows 
hard.  "  How  dared  he !  "  she  says  to  herself.  Then  she 
stands  quite  still — waiting  for  him. 

But  when  he  approaches  there  is  something  about  him 
which,  even  before  he  speaks,  softens  the  heart  of  the 
stern  young  judge.  He  is  paler  than  usual ;  he  looks  like 
a  man  who  has  suffered :  and  what  touches  a  woman  so 
quickly  as  that?     He  speaks,  too,  very  humbly. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  think  this  a  great  presumption. 
But,  when  I  asked  for  you,  I  was  told  that  you  had  gone 
out  toward  the  garden  ;  and  I  wished  so  much  to  see  you 
that  I  have  ventured  to  follow  you." 

"  I  am  at  a  loss,"  says  Roslyn,  coldly,  "  to  imagine 
why  you  should  wish  to  see  me." 

"  You  will  let  me  tell  you,  then,"  he  says.  "  I  am  go- 
ing away  to-day ;  but,  before  going,  I  should  like,  if 
possible,  to  put  myself  right  in  your  estimation." 

She  does  not  say,  "  That  is  impossible,"  but  her  face 
says  it  for  her,  as  she  asks  (still  coldly),  "  Why  should  it 
matter  to  you  what  my  estimation  of  you  may  be  ? ' 

"  It  matters,"  he  answers,  "  because  you  are  doing  me 
injustice,  and  because — whether  you  believe  it  or  not — 
I  love  you." 

"  If  I  have  done,  or  am  doing,  you  injustice,"  she  says, 
"  I  am  sorry.  But  the  other — we  will  not  discuss  that, 
if  you  please." 

"  Yet  it  is  of  that  I  wish  to  speak,"  he  says,  "  because 


TEE  END   OF  SUSPENSE.  273 

it  is  with  regard  to  that  you  are  doing  me  the  greatest  in- 
justice. Having  discovered  that  I  am  not  wholly  true — 
a  model  of  honor — you  disbelieve  in  my  sincerity  alto- 
gether. But  men  are  more  complex  than  you  think ;  and 
a  man  who  violates  the  truth  occasionally  may  love  as 
well  as  if  he  were  a  paladin.  So  I  have  loved  you — not 
enough,  perhaps,  to  make  me  forget  myself  entirely,  but 
enough  to  make  me  come  nearer  doing  so  than  was  ever 
the  case  before  in  my  life.  As  I  told  you  yesterday,  the 
fact  that  I  was  bound  to  my  cousin  would  have  counted 
little  against  the  force  of  this  love,  if  I  had  not,  by  my 
own  folly,  put  marriage  out  of  my  power,  if  I  had  not 
been  a  man  too  poor — " 

"  Mr.  Laurent,"  Eoslyn  interrupts,  haughtily,  "  I  re- 
peat that  this  is  a  subject  of  which  I  will  hear  no  more. 
It  does  not  interest  me,  and  every  word  that  you  utter 
only  sinks  you  lower  in  my  esteem." 

"  That  is  because  you  do  not  comprehend,"  he  says, 
eagerly — "  because  you  know  little  of  the  power  of  love. 
Heaven  seemed  to  open  to  me  when  I  came  here,  think- 
ing that  I  might  be  able  to  claim  you.  And  those  calcu- 
lations which  offended  you  so  deeply  yesterday — what 
were  they  but  counting  steps  to  you  f  " 

"  I  have  heard,"  says  Roslyn,  "  that  there  are  women 
who  can  forgive  anything  done  for  their  sake.  But  I  am 
not  one  of  those  women.  Your  excuse  has  no  weight 
with  me.     I  care  nothing  for  such  love." 

"  But  you  cared  when  we  parted !  "  he  says,  as  if  in 
last  appeal.  "  And  if  I  had  hope,  the  faintest  hope,  that 
3^ou  might  care  again,  I  should  not  regard  poverty  or — " 

"  Honor  1 "  she  says.  "  I  do  not  doubt  the  last,  at  least. 
But  you  have  a  short  memory,  Mr.  Laurent,  if  you  have 
forgotten   already  what  I  told  you  yesterday.     It  was 


274  EOSLYJST'S  FORTUNE. 

surely  plain  enough.  But  if  you  wish,  I  will  be  more 
explicit.  I  will  tell  you,  once  for  all,  that  if  you  were  as 
free  as  air,  and  as  wealthy  as  your  highest  hopes  or  wildest 
dreams,  I  should  say  to  you,  as  I  say  now :  I  care  nothing 
for  you,  I  have  no  trust  in  you,  and  nothing  on  earth 
could  induce  me  to  marry  you  !  " 

"  You  are  certainly  explicit  enough,"  he  says,  bitterly. 
"  I  shall  trouble  you  no  further.  I  have  here  a  telegram 
announcing  my  cousin's  arrival  in  New  York.  I  meant 
to  leave  it  to  you  whether  I  should  go  or  stay.  But  I  see 
now  that  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  go.  You  will  give 
me  your  hand  in  farewell,  perhaps.  And,  if  you  trust  me 
in  nothing. else,  trust  me,  at  least,  in  believing  that  I  love 
you." 

She  holds  out  her  hand.  Some  instinct  tells  her  that 
his  last  words,  at  least,  are  true.  "  I  should  prefer — for 
your  sake — to  believe  anything  else,"  she  says.  "  But  I 
will  try  to  think  better  of  you,  and  I  hope  that  you  may 
be  happy." 

"  Think  of  me  as  one  who  leaves  his  best  hope  of  hap- 
piness here,"  he  says,  kissing  her  hand. 

A  moment  later  she  is  standing  alone,  with  a  feeling 
as  if  all  that  had  passed  had  been  a  dream.  She  leans 
her  head  unconsciously  down  on  the  gate,  and,  before  she 
raises  it,  a  familiar  voice  says  : 

"  Was  that  the  last  act  of  the  comedy  ? " 

"  Lettice ! "  says  Roslyn,  looking  up  with  a  start. 
"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  home,  my  dear,"  answers  Lettice.  "  Do  you 
think  I  dropped  from  the  sky  ?  But,  just  as  I  reached 
the  edge  of  the  woods,  I  saw  you  standing  here  with  Mr. 
Laurent ;  so  I  paused — naturally  not  wishing  to  interrupt 
you.     Then  I  saw  that  tender  farewell,  and  then  I  came." 


THE  END   OF  SUSPENSE.  275 


"  It  was  a  farewell,"  says  Roslyn — "  a  final  farewell. 
He  is  going  away  to-day." 

"  Heaven  be  praised !  That  is — I  don't  want  to  re- 
joice too  soon — if  his  going  means  nothing  to  you." 

"  Nothing,"  answers  Roslyn,  quietly  —  "  absolutely 
nothing."  She  looks  away  for  an  instant,  and  then  goes 
ou :  "  That  is  the  strange  part  of  it — that  it  should  be 
absolutely  nothing.  Three  months  ago  I  fancied  myself 
in  love  with  him!  And  now  there  is  no  one  whose 
going  could  move  me  less.  Is  it  not  strange,  Lettice, 
'  such  a  little  while  ago,  such  a  little  while ' \  " 

"  '  At  our  own  inconstancy,  should  we  sigh  or  smile  ? '  " 

says  Lettice,  adding  the  line  her  words  suggest.  "I 
think,  in  your  place,  I  should  smile,  for  you  know  you 
never  cared  for  him.  At  least,  /  knew  it.  I  knew  you 
were  too  true  yourself  not  to  detect  the  ring  of  false 
metal." 

"  I  did  detect  it,"  she  says.  "  There  never  was  a  time 
when  I  felt  quite  sure  that  he  was  true.  But  let  us  not 
speak  of  him  any  more — not  any  more  at  all.  He  is  dead 
and  buried,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned.  But,  while  we 
talk  in  this  way,  you  have  not  heard  the  news,  the  great 
news  that  Colonel  Duncau  is  better,  that  the  doctors  think 
now  he  will  get  well." 

"  It  is  great  news,  indeed,"  says  Lettice,  watching  the 
light  which  comes  over  the  face  of  the  other,  and  drawing 
her  own  conclusions  therefrom.  "  There  could  not  be 
any  better  news,  and  I  must  go  and  tell  it  to  mamma. 
Will  you  not  come,  Roslyn?  The  walk  may  do  you 
good." 

"  I  think  I  will,"  says  Roslyn.  "  It  is  such  a  glorious 
day.     And  what  a  day  it  might  have  been !  " 


276  EOSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 


CHAPTEE  XXX. 

AN"   ANTICLIMAX. 

"  This  I  consider  decidedly  an  anticlimax,"  says  Colo- 
nel Duncan. 

He  speaks  with  a  smile,  as  he  finds  himself,  for  the 
first  time  since  his  illness,  down-stairs  before  the  cheerful 
sitting-room  fire.  His  welcome  from  all  the  family  has 
amounted  to  an  ovation ;  and  now  that  he  has  been,  de- 
spite his  own  demur,  enthroned  in  a  deep  easy-chair,  with 
an  outlook  through  the  glass  door  on  the  bright  Novem- 
ber day,  with  its  wealth  of  many-tinted  foliage,  while 
within  are  all  the  signs  of  pleasant  family  life — Mrs. 
Vardray's  work-table,  with  Mrs.  Yardray  herself  beside 
it,  the  open  piano,  the  center-table  strewed  with  odds 
and  ends,  and  last,  but  not  least,  Roslyn's  bright  eyes 
and  brighter  smile — he  feels  that  life  is  a  very  good  and 
pleasant  thing,  even  while  he  utters  the  above  remark. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  think  anticlimax  \ "  asks  Mrs. 
Yardray.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  a  very  perfect  and 
delightful  climax  to  see  you  well  again." 

"  It  strikes  me  altogether  in  the  light  of  an  anti- 
climax," he  says.  "After  making  all  his  arrangements 
to  die,  a  man  ought  to  die,  and  not  come  back  to  life 
again  and  be  made  much  of,  as  you  are  making  much  of 
me." 

"We  are  only  too  glad  to  have  you  to  make  much 
of,"  says  the  lady,  cordially.  "Roslyn  looks  as  if  she 
thought  you  were  very  ungrateful  for  your  recovery." 


AN  AXTICLIMAX.  277 

"  I  was  not  thinking  that,"  says  Iwoslyn,  with  a  slight 
blush;  "but  I  was  wondering  if  Colonel  Duncan  ap- 
preciates how  anxious  all  his  friends  were  about  him 
when  he  was  ill,  that  he  talks  of  its  being  anticlimax  to 
be  well." 

"  I  am  not  ungrateful  for  the  kindness  of  ray  friends," 
says  Duncan,  looking  at  her  and  wondering  if  she  under- 
stands how  much  of  an  anticlimax  this  recovery  is  to 
her.  "  I  only  feel  that,  having  got  so  far,  it  was  hardly 
worth  while  to  have  all  the  trouble  over  again.  But  it  is 
a  boon  to  be  alive  on  such  a  day  as  this  !  "  He  breaks  off 
abruptly  as  he  rises  and  walks  toward  the  glass  door.  "  I 
have  not  been  out  yet,  and  I  think  this  is  the  best  time 
to  begin  to  take  a  little  open-air  exercise.  ^Yill  you  join 
me  ? "  he  asks,  turning  to  Roslyn. 

"  If  you  think  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not 
go,"  she  answers. 

"  I  can  not  imagine  why  there  should  be  any  reason," 
he  says.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  had  played  invalid  and  convales- 
cent long  enough." 

So  the  door  is  opened,  and  they  go  out  into  the  spark- 
ling sunshine,  tempered  softly  with  autumn  haze.  The 
day  is  of  that  enchanting  loveliness  which  never  touches 
us  so  much  as  when  it  contains  a  premonition  of  decay, 
when  Xature  arrays  herself  in  her  most  gorgeous  robes 
before  lying  down  to  die.  Every  tree  and  shrub  is 
aflame  with  color,  while  the  turf  is  still  freshly  green, 
and  the  flowers  are  blooming  more  brilliantly  than  during 
the  summer. 

"  You  can  not  go  far,"  says  Roslyn  to  her  companion, 
as  they  descend  the  veranda-steps  ;  "  so  we  will  take  a  walk 
around  the  garden.  The  chrysanthemums  and  dahlias  are 
worth  seeing." 


278  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  Everything  is  worth  seeing,"  he  replies.  "  How  I 
feel  the  truth  of  those  lines ! — 

'  The  common  air,  the  sun,  the  skies, 
To  him  are  opening  paradise.' 

It  is  what  every  one  recovering  from  illness  must  feel — 
but  what  I  feel  peculiarly,  to  whom  the  outer  world  has 
always  been  so  much." 

"I  know  that  you  have  always  led  a  very  active 
existence,"  she  says ;  "  and  the  doctor  thinks  it  is  to  that 
— to  the  strength  of  constitution  which  it  gave — that  you 
owe  your  life." 

"  Very  likely.  I  certainly  owe  to  it  health  of  mind 
and  body  during  all  my  life  ;  so  I  am  quite  willing  to  owe 
to  it  the  preservation  of  life  also.  Ah,  what  a  scene! 
what  an  atmosphere !  '  Opening  paradise '  could  scarcely 
be  more  beautiful  to  eyes  that  have  only  seen  the  walls 
of  a  sick-chamber  for  weeks." 

"  I  have  thought  of  you  often  when  I  have  been  walk- 
ing here,"  says  Roslyn,  "  when  I  would  look  at  so  much 
beauty — and  then  at  the  closed  blinds  of  your  windows." 

"  If  your  glances  could  have  penetrated  those  closed 
blinds,  I  might  have  been  consoled  a  little  by  their 
sympathy,"  he  says,  smiling.  "  I  certainly  needed  com- 
fort very  much.  I  found  myself  not  made  of  heroic  stuff 
at  all,  in  the  way  of  endurance." 

"Men  seldom  are  heroic  about  enduring  illness  or 
confinement,  I  believe  ;  that  is  our  prerogative." 

It  will  be  seen  that  up  to  this  point  the  conversation 
has  proceeded  easily,  and  been  of  very  indifferent  charac- 
ter. Now  Duncan  feels  that  he  must  brace  himself  to 
say  something  which  he  fears  may  be  very  painful  to  his 
companion,  but  which  it  is  quite  essential  that  she  shall 


AN  ANTICLIMAX.  279 

hear,  which  she  must  hear  sooner  or  later — if  not  from 
him,  then  from  some  one  else.  So,  with  a  nervousness 
which  betrays  itself  a  little  in  his  voice,  he  says : 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  had  a  letter  from 
Laurent  the  other  day.     He  wrote  from  New  York." 

"  Indeed  !  "  says  Roslyn.  Unconsciously  she  looks  at 
him  inquiringly — but  it  is  because  his  tone  surprises  her, 
not  because  she  is  interested  in  any  news  from  Laurent. 
"  I  hope  he  is  well,"  she  says,  with  the  conventional  in- 
stinct which  is  frequently  of  such  good  service  to  us  in  life. 

"  Quite  well,  I  believe,"  Duncan  answers.  lie  hesi- 
tates an  instant — then  thinking,  "I  have  no  finesse,  I  had 
better  blurt  it  out ! "  he  goes  on  :  "  His  expressed  object 
in  writing  was  to  inquire  about  my  health ;  but  his  real 
object,  I  think,  was  to  tell  me  that  he  is  on  the  eve 
of  marrying  his  cousin,  who  had  just  returned  from 
abroad." 

Roslyn  says  "  Indeed !  "  again,  very  calmly ;  for  now 
she  knows  why  Duncan  looks  away  from  her,  and  why 
his  voice  has  taken  that  tone  of  nervousness.  "  He  is 
afraid  I  care ! "  she  thinks,  with  a  scorn  which  would 
steady  her  nerves,  if  they  needed  any  steadying.  "I 
knew  that  Mr.  Laurent  went  to  New  York  to  meet  his 
cousin,"  she  says  aloud.  "I  am  not  surprised  to  hear 
that  they  are  to  be  married." 

"  You  knew  that  he  was  going ! "  says  Duncan,  look- 
ing at  her  with  surprise.     "  Did  he  tell  you  so  ? " 

"  Yes,  the  day  he  left,"  she  answers,  quietly.  "  That 
was  his  excuse  for  going  away  without  seeing  you — after 
coming  to  see  you  !  " 

"  Coming  to  see  me !  "  he  repeats.  "  I  should  not 
like  to  say  what  I  think  was  his  motive  for  coming — 
besides,  of  course,  his  desire  to  see  you." 


280  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

"  I  think  we  may  leave  that  out  of  the  question,"  she 
says.  "  I  have  no  idea  that  he  would  ever  have  come 
back  but  for  the  news  of  your  accident." 

"  But  being  here — forgive  me  ! — did  he  ignore  what 
passed  last  summer  ? " 

"  Oh,  no.  I  think  he  was  quite  willing  to  take  up  the 
matter  just  where  he  left  off.  Finding  that  I  had  no  inten- 
tion of  permitting  that,  however,  he  was  moved  to  offer  to 
resign  his  cousin  and  remain  here — if  I  said  the  word." 

"  And  you—? " 

"  He  went :  so  it  is  plain  what  I  replied." 

"  You  replied,  no  doubt,  as  you  did  last  summer,  that 
you  would  not  permit  him  to  break  his  engagement  for 
your  sake." 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  or  not  1  told  him  that,  but  I 
am  sure  I  told  him  that  if  he  were  as  free  as  air,  I  would 
not  marry  him.  I  was  a  fool  last  summer,  but  happily 
my  folly  was  not  of  long  duration." 

"Let  me  beg  that  you  will  not  call  yourself  by  so 
harsh  a  name  —  and  one  so  undeserved.  You  were 
dazzled — what  girl  would  not  have  been?  But,  even 
though  there  was  a  little  glamour  over  your  sight,  what  a 
wonderfully  steady  head  you  kept !  " 

She  shakes  that  head  with  an  air  of  deprecation  and 
denial.  "  You  are  very  good,"  she  says.  "I  can  never 
forget  how  good,  with  regard  to  this  very  thing ;  but  I 
can  not  condone  my  own  folly." 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  judge  others  as  rigorously  as  you 
judge  yourself,"  he  says,  smiling. 

Here  the  subject  drops,  but  the  fairness  of  the  day  is 
wonderfully  enhanced  in  Duncan's  eyes  by  the  great  load 
that  has  been  taken  from  his  mind ;  and,  as  he  walks  by 
Roslyn's  side  around  the  garden,  he  feels  again  and  again 


AN  ANTICLIMAX.  281 

how  good  a  tiling  it  is  to  be  alive.  What  he  has  just 
heard  gives  him  no  hope  whatever  of  winning  her  him- 
self, but  it  disposes  of  the  fear  that  she  may  be  taken 
away  out  of  the  familiar  place  she  has  brightened  so  long, 
by  one  unworthy  of  her.  No  doubt,  she  will  marry  some 
one  else — Geoffrey,  perhaps — some  day ;  but,  meanwhile, 
she  is  here,  as  the  sunshine  is  here,  and  Duncan  rejoices 
in  both. 

When  they  turn  to  retrace  their  steps  toward  the 
house,  he  says,  breaking  rather  abruptly  a  pause  which 
has  lasted  for  several  minutes  : 

"  I  have  not  thanked  you  yet — I  hardly  know  how  to 
thank  you — for  your  kindness  in  acceding  to  my  request 
made  when  I  thought  myself  about  to  die.  It  was  like 
you  to  be  ready  to  do  what  I  asked  ;  but  I  am  glad  you 
were  spared  a  thing  so  painful.  It  must  have  seemed 
selfish  of  me  to  ask  it — but  I  had  a  reason." 

"  I  never,  for  a  moment,  thought  it  selfish,"  she  says, 
in  a  low  voice.  "  How  could  I — when  I  knew  you  were 
only  thinking  of  me  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  was  only  thinking  of  you.  But,  you  see,  if  I 
had  properly  appreciated  the  strength  of  my  constitution, 
I  might  have  spared  you  the  request.  However,  I  am 
not  sorry  to  know  that  you  were  willing  to  do  even  as 
much  as  that  for  your  old  friend.  I  only  want  you  to  be 
certain  of  two  things  :  first,  that  I  appreciate  your  consent ; 
and,  secondly,  that  I  make  no  mistake  about  it — that  I 
base  nothing  upon  it,  and  that  I  have  no  intention  of  tor- 
menting you  with  the  same  request  now  that  I  am  well." 

To  this  comforting  assurance,  Roslyn  makes  no  reply, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  they  are  in  the  house,  where  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Yardray  meet  the  late  invalid  with  many  hopes 
that  he  has  not  made  his  first  walk  too  long. 


282  £0SLYN>8  FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

GEOFFREY   GIVES   A    HINT. 

A  week  later  Colonel  Duncan  has  returned  to  Cliff- 
ton,  and  Yerdevale  has  settled  into  its  normal  condition. 
The  only  change  marking  what  is  past  is  in  Roslyn,  and 
this  change  Geoffrey  alone  perceives.  It  is  not  likely 
that  he  would  perceive  it  were  his  eyes  not  sharpened  hy 
previous  knowledge ;  but,  as  it  is,  he  sees  a  subtile  differ- 
ence in  her — a  difference  too  subtile  to  be  described  in 
words,  yet  which  tells  him  that  she  is  suffering  from  a 
regret  none  the  less  real  because  in  a  measure  unacknowl- 
edged even  to  herself.  "  I  am  not  the  first  person  who 
has  ignorantly  and  blindly  thrown  away  a  treasure,"  she 
thinks  ;  a  but  I  hope  I  have  self-respect  enough  to  abide 
by  the  consequences  of  my  folly  and  blindness,  without 
making  any  idle  moan  about  it." 

She  certainly  makes  no  idle  moan  ;  but  Geoffrey  sees 
that  all  is  not  light  with  her — that  the  blithe  spirits  are 
not  so  blithe  as  usual,  the  sunny  eyes  a  little  shadowed, 
the  smiles  not  so  frequent  or  so  bright. 

"  Now  would  be  my  chance,  perhaps,  if  I  were  like 
the  lovers  one  sometimes  reads  of  in  novels,"  he  thinks. 
"I  might  widen  the  misunderstanding  between  these 
two  and  keep  them  from  ever  coming  together.  But  I 
don't  think  it  would  advantage  me  much  if  I  did.  I 
begin  to  see  that,  if  I  lived  with  Roslyn  a  hundred  years, 
I  would  be  no  nearer  to  her  at  the  end  of  that  time  than 
I  am  now.     This  being  the  case,  I  think  the  best  thing  I 


GEOFFREY  GIVES  A  HINT.  283 

can  do  is  to  try  and  make  her  happy  in  the  way  she 
desires.  Duncan — confound  him  ! — has  won  her  heart 
at  last,  and  he  is  so  stupid  that  he  does  not  know  it ;  so  I 
suppose  I  had  better  try  and  make  the  fact  plain  to  his 
comprehension — but  how  ? " 

A  question  more  easily  asked  than  answered  :  so 
Geoffrey  betakes  himself  to  his  adviser-in-chief — Lettice. 

"  I  am  always  bothering  you  about  something,"  he 
says  to  her,  apologetically,  when  he  finds  an  opportunity  ; 
"  but  it  is  not  about  myself — at  least  not  about  myself 
directly — that  I  am  going  to  trouble  you  now.  It  is 
about  Roslyn.  Tell  me  if  you  have  observed  any  change 
in  her  of  late  ?  " 

Lettice  nods.  "  There  is  a  change,"  she  says.  "  What 
do  you  think  is  the  cause  ?  " 

"I  would  rather  hear  what  you  think.  I  am  as 
clumsy  in  observation  as  in  everything  else,  compared 
with  you." 

"  Oh,  no.  Such  modesty  does  not  become  you ;  but 
of  course  a  woman  reads,  or  ought  to  read,  another  wom- 
an better  than  a  man  can.  Well,  frankly,  then,  I  am 
sorry  to  say  anything  painful  to  you,  but  I  think  Roslyn 
has  found  out  that  she  cares  for  Colonel  Duncan — now 
that  he  has  gone." 

"  It  is  not  as  painful  to  me  as  you  might  think,"  says 
Geoffrey.  "  When  a  man  makes  up  his  mind  finally  and 
definitely  that  there  is  no  hope  for  him,  he  is  a  fool  if  he 
can  not  submit  to  the  inevitable.  What  good  is  it  to 
tear  one's  hair  and  cry  out  against  the  hardships  of  Fate  ? 
I  am  a  better  philosopher  than  that." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  says  Lettice  ;  "  for  indeed  I 
begin  to  think  at  last  that  there  is  no  hope  for  you." 

"  I  have   known  it  for  some  time — long  enough  to 


284  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

learn  how  to  bear  it.  Perhaps,  after  all,  my  love  for 
Roslyn  has  somewhat  of  the  brotherly  character.  At 
least  I  know  that  I  was  so  tremendously  disturbed  over 
the  idea  of  her  marrying  Laurent,  that  this  is  a  great  re- 
lief to  me." 

"  By  this,  I  suppose  you  mean  the  prospect  of  her 
marrying  Colonel  Duncan  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  he  is  a  splendid  fellow,  and  a  great  deal 
more  worthy  of  her  than  I  am.  No,  don't  look  as  if  you 
thought  me  a  marvel  of  generosity  " — for  Lettice  glances 
at  him  with  admiring  approval ;  "  I  am  only  not  stulti- 
fied by  self-conceit,  and  when  I  see  a  thing  I  know  it. 
'  Let  us  come  back  to  our  sheep,'  however,  as  the  French- 
man said,  and  tell  me  what  is  to  be  done  about  Roslyn  % 
I  don't  want  it  to  be  a  case  like  those  forlorn  lovers 
whom  somebody  wrote  about : 

'  I  was  too  proud  the  truth  to  show, 
You  were  too  blind  the  truth  to  know, 
And  so  we  parted  long  ago.'  " 

Lettice  can  not  forbear  smiling.  "I  really  do  not 
think  that  you  are  much  hurt,"  she  says.  "  I  fear  I  have 
been  wasting  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  compassion  on 
you.  But  I  don't  think  any  solicitude  is  needed  about 
Roslyn  and  Colonel  Duncan.  He  has  been  in  love  with 
her  so  long,  that  he  is  not  likely  to  stop  loving  her  now, 
and  some  day  he  will  see  the  truth." 

"  You  would  not  give  him  a  hint  \ " 

"  No,  I  certainly  would  not.  It  is  too  delicate  ground 
to  venture  upon ;  and,  if  you  were  mistaken,  think  how 
bad  it  would  be!  " 

"  I  am  not  mistaken,"  says  Geoffrey,  remembering 
well  that  day  in  the  orchard  when  the  truth  came  to  him 


GEOFFREY  GIVES  A  HINT.  285 

as  a  revelation.  "  But  I  will  abide  by  your  decision — 
especially  as  I  don't  clearly  see  how  I  would  set  about 
giving  the  hint." 

uIt  might  be  awkward,"  says  Lettice,  with  a  laugh. 

"When  she  laughs,  Lettice  is  a  very  pretty  girl,  and  so 
Geoffrey  observes,  looking  down  at  her  pure  complexion, 
her  delicate  features,  and  clear  gray  eyes.  What  sound 
judgment  she  has  too,  and  what  a  sweet,  unspoiled  na- 
ture, in  circumstances  where  many  people  would  be  em- 
bittered !  This  is  what  he  thinks,  in  the  pause  before  he 
speaks  again. 

"  Well,  I  trust  to  your  judgment.  But  I  hope  you 
will  observe  how  things  drift,  and  let  me  hear.  I  shall 
be  going  away  soon,  you  know." 

"  To  your  uncle,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  to  my  uncle — poor  old  fellow !  He  is  awfully 
hipped  living  alone ;  and  lie  wants  me  to  live  with  him 
— keeps  on  writing  about  it ;  so  I  suppose  I  must  go." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  go,"  says  Lettice,  with  decis- 
ion. "  It  is  not  much  to  give  him  a  few  years  of  your 
youth  in  return  for  his  affection — to  say  nothing  of  the 
fortune  he  will  leave  you  some  day." 

"  No  doubt  you  are  right — somehow  you  always  are 
right — and  I'll  go  to-morrow.  Nobody  at  home  would 
bolster  up  my  resolution ;  so  I  have  put  off  my  departure 
from  day  to  day." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  bolster  up  your  resolution  for 
such  a  speedy  departure,"  says  Lettice,  smiling — though 
she  feels  with  something  of  a  pang  how  much  sunlight 
will  go  out  of  her  life  with  his  bright  presence. 

u  If  a  thing  is  to  be  done  at  all,  it  had  better  be  done  at 
once,"  says  Geoffrey,  philosophically.     "  Never  mind  ! ' 
This  consolatory  ejaculation  is  apparently  addressed  to 


286  ROSLTN'S  FORTUNE. 

himself.  "  A  few  months  will  pass  and  then  I'll  come 
back — to  torment  you  less  than  I  have  during  the  past 
summer,  I  hope,  Lettice,  but  to  enjoy  your  society  as 
much.     And,  meanwhile,  you'll  write  to  me  ? " 

Lettice  is  inclined  to  think  that  she  will  not ;  but  some- 
how the  words  of  refusal  stick  in  her  throat,  and,  when 
Geoffrey  takes  his  departure  a  little  later,  they  have  not 
been  spoken. 

Walking  home  with  a  glow  of  a  virtuous  resolution  to 
animate  his  movements,  he  enters  the  grounds  of  Verde- 
vale  while  the  sun  is  sending  a  flood  of  level  gold  across 
them.  Just  as  he  emerges  from  the  garden,  he  perceives 
Colonel  Duncan  entering  the  gate  at  the  foot  of  the  lawn, 
and  he  therefore  strikes  across  the  sward  to  meet  him. 

"  We  began  to  think  we  should  have  to  send  after  you," 
he  says,  gayly,  when  reaching  him.  "  Do  you  feel  as  if 
Yerdevale  were  a  prison,  from  which  you  had  escaped, 
that  you  have  been  so  long  in  coming  back  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  know  better  than  that,"  replies  Duncan, 
smiling.  "  But  I  have  not  left  Cliff  ton  since  I  returned 
to  it,  until  to-day." 

He  does  not  add  what  a  struggle  it  has  been  with 
him  to  remain  away,  nor  how  like  a  foolish  moth  rush- 
ing into  a  flame  he  feels  in  coming  back. 

"Well,  we  have  all  missed  you  deplorably,"  says 
Geoffrey,  "and  I  assure  you  we  feel  as  if  we  still  had  a 
right  of  jurisdiction  over  you.  I  am  heartily  glad  you 
have  come  this  evening,  for  I  am  thinking  of  going  away 
to-morrow." 

"  Indeed  !     Where  ?  " 

"  Oh,  to  my  uncle,  who  has  a  most  remarkable  fancy 
for  my  society,  and  appeals  to  me  in  heart-rending  terms 
to  come  and  comfort  his  declining  years." 


GEOFFREY  GIVES  A  HINT.  287 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  going,"  says  Duncan,  "  and  I 
wonder  that  you  are  able  to  tear  yourself  away." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  from  Roslyn,"  says  Geoffrey, 
who  sees  his  opportunity,  and  prepares  to  take  advantage 
of  it,  despite  Lettice's  advice  to  the  contrary.  "  But  I 
don't  mind  telling  you  that  the  best  thing  that  can  hap- 
pen to  me  is  to  go  away  from  Roslyn.  She  looks  upon 
me  as  a  brother,  and,  unless  I  want  her  to  cease  looking 
on  me  in  any  other  light  than  as  a  tormenter,  I  had  bet- 
ter be  content  with  that.  Honestly,  I  have  not  a  chance 
with  her — and  I  never  have  had." 

"  You  may  have,  though,"  says  Duncan,  kindly. 

The  young  man  shakes  his  head.  "  I  have  given  up," 
he  says.  "  It  is  no  great  wisdom  to  do  that,  when  one 
sees  one  has  no  chance." 

They  are  near  the  house  by  this  time — Geoffrey  walk- 
ing by  the  side  of  Duncan's  horse — and  he  knows  that, 
if  he  is  to  say  anything  more  definite,  now  or  never  is 
his  time.  "  I'll  risk  it !  "  he  thinks — and  then  he  looks 
up  quickly. 

"  Only  one  man  has  a  chance  with  Roslyn,"  he  says, 
"  and  he — must  pardon  me  for  reminding  him  that 
1  faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady.'  " 

There  is  not  time  for  another  word,  since  Mr.  Yar- 
dray  advances  to  meet  them  at  this  moment ;  and  in- 
deed Duncan  is  so  much  astonished  that  it  is  doubtful  if 
he  would  be  able  to  reply  to  Geoffrey's  hint  had  he  time 
to  do  so. 

But  this  hint  has  opened  his  eyes,  and  by  the  aid  of 
it  he  sees  something  in  Roslyn's  eyes  when  they  meet, 
which  without  it  he  might  not  have  seen  or  interpreted 
aright.  The  perception  is  almost  overwhelming  in  its 
unexpectedness,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  he  is  like 


288  ROSLYN'S  FORTUNE. 

a  man  moving,  talking,  having  his  being  in  a  dream. 
He  has  no  intention  of  making  any  opportunity  to  speak 
to  Eoslyn — he  feels  as  if  no  time  of  waiting  would  be 
long  now,  with  this  strange,  new  happiness  to  ponder 
upon  ;  but  without  any  seeking,  the  opportunity  comes, 
and  he  is  not  the  man  to  let  it  pass. 

It  is  the  time  for  his  departure,  and  he  finds  himself 
standing  with  Eoslyn  before  the  sitting-room  fire,  while 
Geoffrey  has  volunteered  to  go  and  order  his  horse. 
Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Yardray  chance  to  be  out  of  the 
room  ;  and  so,  looking  at  the  fair  face  before  him,  he 
feels  that  he  must  speak. 

"  Eoslyn,"  he  says,  quickly,  with  the  memory  of  Geof- 
frey's words  in  his  mind,  "  it  is  said  that  faint  heart 
never  won  a  lady.  Now,  I  have  not  a  faint  heart,  but  a 
very  loyal  and  sore  one — one  that  has  tried  to  keep  away 
from  you,  and  has  come  back  because  the  effort  was  be- 
yond its  strength.  So,  I  break  the  promise  which  I  made 
to  you  only  the  other  day,  and  ask  if  you,  who  were  so 
generous  to  a  dying  man,  will  be  less  generous  to  a  living 
one  ?  Life  has  been  given  back  to  me,  as  it  were,  but  I 
am  so  ungrateful  that  T  can  not  feel  as  if  it  had  any 
value  unless  you  will  share  it.  Once  more — I  promise 
you,  for  the  last  time — let  me  ask  if  you  will  not  do  so  ?  " 

There  is  an  instant's  pause — then  Eoslyn,  who  has  in 
her  "  no  cunning  to  be  strange,"  puts  out  her  hand. 

"  It  is  for  the  last  time,"  she  says.  "  You  need  never 
ask  me  again,  for  I  can  imagine  no  better  happiness  than 
to  share  your  life.  I  found  that  out  when  we  thought 
you  dying." 

"  When  I  robbed  you  of  a  fortune  by  getting  well — ■ 
do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  To  give  me  the  better  fortune  of  your  heart,"  she  says. 


